Dragon's Blood
by Killer Zebra
Summary: Alys is having strange dreams . . . dreams about dragon's blood. And Selendrile can only hope that she won't hate him for changing her into something that she doesn't recognize. ::Rewrite in progress!::
1. Chapter 1: If You Don't Want To Fly

**AN: Hello again! Long time no see! :) . . . , I went back over my old stories, and frankly, they suck. A lot. So, I'm going to FIX them! *beams* ... What? Why are you looking at me like that? Hmph. *glares at you*  
Anyway. At first I only planned to redo and repost the original first chapter of _Dragon's Blood _(which is now reposted as _Precious,_ by the way), but then I took a look at the rest of the story and just _cringed. _Sorry if you're a fan, but the original _Dragon's Blood _was in dire need of help. Everyone was horribly out of character (Selendrile most of all), the grammar was worthy of eyeball-gouging, and, well- yeah. It needed help. So, I edited a couple chapters of that before I got editors block (IT DOES EXIST!). Since then I've been story-hopping between that, my very first fic (_Only Gods Can Change Stone_; completely different fandom), and my current WIP, _Suspension of Disbelief_ (also completely different fandom)_._ Also, homework. Homework sucks. Anyway, long story short, nothing is finished yet, but I figured I might as well post what I have done so far. I thought I'd just be editing, but I'm basically rewriting the whole thing, so if you think you know _Dragon's Blood, _think again! Hope you enjoy.  
****~Killer Zebra**

******Disclaimer: I am VVV! I own the rights to _Dragon's Bait!_ My hair is neon purple! _But everything I say is a lie . . ._**  
Apply above disclaimers to all future chapters, please. It doesn't belong to me!

* * *

**WARNING: This chapter contains some gore (not really violence).**

**Chapter 1****:  
If You Don't Want to Fly . . .**

_Alys hurtled top-speed along the riverbank. Her arms were flung out at her sides, and she swerved and dove like a bird on the winds, laughing all the while. She grinned breathlessly over her shoulder at her best friend Risa, whose shorter legs struggled to keep up, and her heart was soaring along with her: all was well. "I'm flying!" she shouted happily to the world._

_She stumbled to a halt and let her arms drop at the edge of the forest, when continuing would have required her to start dodging tree trunks. Still humming with adrenaline and excitement, she located a convenient, wide-trunked oak tree and collapsed at its foot with a grin, knowing that Risa would follow her example before too long. When she turned to look, though, her friend was nowhere in sight. _

_Alys frowned worriedly, sitting up straight to look around more carefully—but then recalled, with a suddenness that was startling, that Risa had been dead for years. So why . . . ? _

_I'm dreaming,__ she realized. _

_As if in response to the revelation, a familiar figure stepped out from the thick of the forest and approached slowly, amethyst eyes settled on her. She returned the dragon-youth's regard warily._

_ "What are you doing in my dreams, Selendrile?" she asked suspiciously, struggling (and not succeeding very well) to keep her awareness from slipping back into the muddling pull of Dream. _

_Selendrile looked at her with what might have been a smile—it was rather blurry, though, so she couldn't be sure. Apparently her mind had boggled at the idea of Selendrile smiling and chickened out at the last minute._

_"I thought that you might like to go flying for real," he told her. _

_Alys grinned lazily up at him. "Silly," she said playfully. "How is it supposed to be real if this is a dream?" She was far more relaxed around Selendrile in her dream-state than she could ever be awake. This Selendrile was really only a figment of her imagination (and therefore under her control), after all. _

_The thought should have been reassuring, but suddenly the dream felt darker—and Alys was wary. After all, nightmares had to come from somewhere._

_"Alright then, have it your way. If you don't want to fly . . . I'll give you a gift," he promised softly. Dangerously. _

_Alys shivered, making to back away—she didn't like this, this wasn't right—but Selendrile moved far faster than she could ever hope to, and, right before her horrified eyes, his nails lengthened and sharpened, turning into claws which he then used to slash a vicious, gaping hole across his own chest. His face was expressionless throughout, and his gaze remained steadily on her face._

_Alys couldn't stifle the little cry of shock and revulsion that escaped her; any awareness that what she was seeing was anything less than real vanished. She couldn't look away for a long moment, morbidly fascinated with the sight of silver liquid pumping steadily out of the wound on Selendrile's chest. _

_Selendrile's voice, as steady and calm as though there were nothing at all out of the ordinary in this scenario, broke her out of her dazed state. "Come here," he commanded._

_She tore her gaze from the blood to meet his eyes, blinking in surprise. "What?" she murmured hazily—then shook herself out of her shock. "Selendrile!" She was at his side in an instant, her stomach in knots. "Oh no—what have you done to yourself? Why did you do this?" the distress was plain to hear in her voice. "We've got to stop the bleeding!"_

_A hurried glance at their surroundings revealed that their supply sack had appeared at some point, and she was moving to retrieve cloth for bandages from within it when the grasp of burning hot hands on her wrists halted the motion._

_"It's alright," said Selendrile unworriedly, still holding her hands captive. "It'll heal quickly enough on its own. Quick: drink."_

_She froze, stunned. Surely he couldn't mean what it sounded like? "What?" _

_He sighed, then transferred both of her hands to one of his so that he could use is free hand to direct her head toward his bleeding chest. Alys shook her head rapidly in a frantic denial, trying to pull away, but she was helpless to escape. _

_"No!" she gasped. Her struggles were ignored, though, and her mouth was guided inexorably to the wound (which, true to the dragon-youth's prediction, was already healing over at the edges). Silver blood slid over her shuddering lips and onto her tongue._

_She stopped protesting instantly. Euphoria flooded her, her mind becoming lost in a state of hazy bliss, and power surged violently through her veins. She drank greedily, taking everything that he was willing to give—until the blood dried up, the wound sealing itself shut. _

_Alys blinked, the fog clearing itself from her mind—then tore herself from Selendrile's grasp, horrified at what she had done. The dragon-youth looked on, apparently unconcerned by either events or Alys' reaction to them. _

_When Alys looked down at herself, as though evidence of what she had done would show on her body, she saw that it actually had—she was glowing in luminescent silver._

_"What am I?"she whispered to herself, frightened._

_ Selendrile heard her, though, despite the softness of her query, and for the first time, he showed some emotional reaction. His eyes lit with a strange intensity, and he reached forward pulled her against his chest with a low, possessive growl. Despite the newfound energy rushing through her, Alys was powerless to resist. _

_"You're mine," he hissed in her ear._

* * *

Alys awoke with a stifled gasp, her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes opened slowly, and she sat up and pushed her blanket away, her gaze darting around the campsite as though to confirm its solidity—and that her dream had been just that: only a dream. She exhaled slightly in relief when she found that, yes, in fact, she was truly awake.

"What an awful dream," she murmured, suppressing a disturbed shudder at the memory of said dream. Her voice shattered the silence of the night jarringly, and she resolved immediately not to say anything else.

A glance up at the starry sky revealed the time to be, to Alys' judgment, about four hours before dawn. She sighed. Adrenaline sang through her body still: she wouldn't be able to sleep now. Perhaps she could calm herself down enough to fall back asleep for a few more hours, though. She hoped so; otherwise it would be a trial to stay alert in the coming day.

An automatic survey of her surroundings in search of something to keep her troubled mind occupied revealed something surprising: across from her, lit by the gently glowing coals of the campfire, Selendrile slept.

Alys had never seen him sleeping in human form before. He was always either gone or crouched, silently observing her nightly routine when she went to sleep, and when she opened her eyes in the morning he would be curled up in dragon-shape, generating enough heat in his sleeping state to be mistaken for a furnace. She had begun to wonder if he _could_ sleep while out of his dragon form. Well, that was one question answered, at least. Quietly fascinated, she rose from her bedroll and cautiously tiptoed closer, careful not to make any noise that might wake him, until she was only a couple feet away.

He looked so . . . peaceful. Innocent. Sleep and the gentle firelight softened his arrogant, beautiful fey features, rousing unwanted feelings in Alys' breast and making the memory of her strange dream fade. Even with the softness, though, he was still himself—still a dragon, powerful and fey. Just somewhat . . . tamed. The dragon slept both literally and metaphorically.

Almost of its own volition, her hand stretched outward, towards his face, and took a single lock of long golden hair, sliding it through her fingers and catching her breath in wonder at the soft texture. There was an exhilarating taste of the forbidden to it, knowing that Selendrile would never allow the touch were he awake. But then his mouth opened just a tiny bit to release a sigh—and Alys, heart pounding madly, snatched her hand away like it had been burnt, holding her breath in fear of his waking. Her fear was for naught, though: his eyes remained closed, and his breathing steady. But something did happen: his lips twitched slightly. Alys, over her momentary panic attack, leaned forward curiously. And . . . he smiled. Just slightly—the tiniest curving at the edges of his mouth, but it was definitely a smile.

Alys couldn't help but smile in response.

_What are you dreaming about? _she wondered, but didn't dare voice the thought. Instead, she stood up and quietly made her way back over to her own bedroll, tucking the memory of his smile into the little treasure chest in the back of her mind where she kept her most precious moments.

She closed her eyes and huddled into her blanket, thinking of sleepy summer afternoons and Selendrile's smile. Despite all that, it took her a long time to fall back to sleep.

* * *

Days had passed with a speed that was dizzying, stretching out into weeks—then months. The first couple of weeks had been awkward—on Alys' part, anyway. With Selendrile, it was hard to tell. If he was ever awkward or uncertain, he never showed it. He always seemed to know exactly what was happening and what to do—while she would stumble and falter at the slightest hitch, he would go on confidently, allowing Alys to follow, relieved, in his wake. She'd never really contemplated what it would be like living with Selendrile—perhaps because before it had actually _happened_, the idea had seemed so impossible as to be ludicrous. If she had, though, she supposed that she would have imagined it to be something along the lines of exotic places filled with exotic animals, exotic treasures, and exotic people (the latter probably chasing them because Selendrile had eaten their exotic animals or stolen their exotic treasures). The reality was quite different. While they did do a lot of traveling, and Alys saw sights that she'd never dreamed of in her sheltered life before . . . everything, the dragon-youth seemed to prefer the wilds, and isolation. Save for Alys: she was always the exception. Every now and then he would give in to her pleading and they would stop at an inn for a hot meal and a bed, but more often than not it was just the two of them, a campfire, and the music of the wilds. She never regretted her choice, though: being with Selendrile, no matter where they were or what they were doing, was . . . marvelous.

Selendrile contended that it was annoying to have a human to care for, that she talked too much and she was always hungry, but as Alys got to know him better, she had started to doubt that he really meant it. She didn't know whether it came of his being a dragon or if it was just him, but Selendrile was one of the most _stubborn, prideful _people she had ever met. He had a terrible sense of entitlement, too: it drove her absolutely _mad_ at times. The point was, however, that when Selendrile didn't want to do something, he _didn't do it_ (unless Alys wheedled him into it. She was, as always, the exception). It came as a delicious thrill the day that Alys realized that, if he really disliked having her around, the dragon-youth would have ditched her long ago. Since he hadn't, he must actually _want _her there; he must actually _enjoy _her company (upon this realization Alys spent several days smirking smugly in true Selendrile fashion at said dragon-youth whenever a barbed comment was aimed in her direction, until, finally showing frustration, he snapped and demanded that she tell him what all the smirking was about. She responded by smirking at him).

She had also discovered the delights of traveling dragon-back, in the soft golden hollow between Selendrile's shoulder and neck. It had all the adrenaline-rushing excitement of being carried by the arms, with the advantage of keeping all of her limbs intact and attached to her body. The space was large enough that she could tuck her legs up underneath her and lean against the back of his neck to form a makeshift reclining bed if she wanted, but more often she would sit sidesaddle, as far forward as she could go, craning her neck around to watch the world around her in amazement as she used the dragon-youth's bulk to shield her from the wind. Riding astride wasn't an option; even if she hadn't been wearing a dress, his back was far too broad for that to be comfortable. She leaned in close to Selendrile's heated scales, watching the distant green countryside pass below her, and wished with all of her being that it would never end.

And there, that thought, was the bane of her happiness: because she knew that it _would_ end, someday. Someday Selendrile would get tired of hauling a human around everywhere he went, or she would grow too old to be gallivanting about on dragon-back all the time. These thoughts, depressing though they were, only served to make Alys more determined than ever to make the most of this unconventional part of her life while it lasted.

She had agreed to stay with Selendrile with the full knowledge that the life she had known would be lost to her—probably forever. She'd assumed that she would miss human companionship, being around the dragon-youth all the time, but she'd accepted this as part of the cost of her choice. She found, though, that those moments were few and far-between: Selendrile, enigma wrapped in a mystery inside a puzzle that he was, was more than enough to occupy her mind, and unraveling the layers of his shell was more than enough to occupy her heart. She knew him better, and loved him more, with every day that passed.

But the very comfort that Alys felt frightened her at times. At the very moments when her new, strange life seemed to fit her the best, when she was the most happy and content—those were the times when the fear would strike. She was afraid to forget that she was human. She'd begun to feel like a fey creature herself: sometimes she thought she could feel the echoes of that wild energy she had felt in the dream of her and Selendrile by the riverbank, and when she looked down at her skin, she almost expected to see it glow. She wondered if dragons' blood was really silver.

When she progressed too far into this mindset, she would carefully, consciously, back away. She would take out her box of precious moments from the back of her mind, and draw out memories of her childhood in the village, of Risa—and most of all, of her father. His memory was what anchored her—how it had been when she was younger, and he was still healthy: his face creased up in a smile, his eyes shining with the love he gave her so lavishly, patiently reiterating to his frustrated daughter the sound that 'A' made. It made her heart ache with sadness—but it also reminded her that she was still human, just as human as she had been then.

Sometimes Alys' mind drifted back to that moment in the forest, when Selendrile had been chained and helpless on the ground, weakened by the iron—the moment right before she left: when she kissed him. He never brought the subject up, like she had feared at first; she was grateful for the windfall, but also fairly certain that the reason had nothing to do with any tact that Selendrile may have possessed. She decided, after some contemplation, that the dragon-youth probably didn't even know what a kiss _was._ If he had known, she was sure that he would take the opportunity to tease her mercilessly about it, in that aggravating blank-faced way of his. It seemed to greatly entertain him when she got angry or embarrassed, and he never failed to take advantage of an opening to tease or mock, riling her until she couldn't help but react. Of course, she couldn't seem to return the favor: despite her diligent efforts, the only emotion Selendrile revealed on a regular basis was amused condescension. Still, though, his actions spoke louder than words; she knew that he valued her, in his own way. And she thought that maybe—just maybe—he cared about her, too. Perhaps the inevitable ending she dreaded would be far, far into the future . . .

Alys tried her hardest not to think that far ahead, though. She just kept focused on what each bright new day ahead of her held: more riding dragon-back, well-earned bruises, pointless arguing with an opponent who _always won_—and before them, open skies.

* * *

**AN: Don't forget to review! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**


	2. Chapter 2: Listen To Me

**Chapter 2****:  
****Listen to Me**

Alys was sick. She hated to admit it, and had hidden the scratchy throat and runny nose from Selendrile as long as she could (not that he was ever really fooled, but she liked to maintain at least some pretense of privacy), but instead of doing the decent thing and fading away after having bugged her for a bit, the illness had grown progressively _worse._ It had been plaguing her for over a week now, and even Selendrile, who usually had little to no patience with her weak human constitution, was shooting her vaguely concerned looks occasionally when he thought she wasn't paying attention.

Now her muscles were sore and her head was stuffy and her lungs felt clogged, and frankly, she was miserable. But she knew—she just _knew_—that Selendrile was waiting for her to break down and ask for help. She _wouldn't: _she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She wasn't _weak,_ no matter what he thought.

Alys sneezed. She then froze and sent a sheepish glance in Selendrile's direction, as though waiting for him to comment. Said dragon-youth, who was industriously occupied with spreading dirt over the remains of the previous night's campfire, just glanced up at her casually and raised an eyebrow (presumably the condensed version of his 'fragile human' speech). Bristling, she narrowed her eyes at him in a glare that had been perfected by long practice—but the effect was rather spoiled by the event of her sneezing again.

Alys flushed with embarrassment and started to duck her head, but the sound of Selendrile's snort arrested the movement. She peered out from under a ragged fringe of brown hair (its growth rate remained agonizingly slow, much to her displeasure), and couldn't contain a gasp when she glimpsed Selendrile's face, complete with bright amethyst eyes and small, amused grin. The latter vanished as soon as its owner realized that he was being watched, however, and he continued doing his task.

"You _smiled!_" Alys breathed.

Selendrile, finished smothering the fire, stood up in a fluid motion from his crouched position and looked at her. "No, I didn't."

"You did!"

"No."

"I _saw_ you!"

"I didn't smile," Selendrile said with finality.

Alys, of course, ignored him. Her expression turned mischievous. "No need to be embarrassed," she teased. "You have a lovely smile!"

Both eyebrows rose, this time. His expression was one of mild surprise. "You think so?"

A furious blush rose in Alys' cheeks, as, left without a retort, she resorted to glaring at him. How did he _always _turn things around on her like that? It just wasn't fair! Months of traveling together had ensured that he knew all of her weak spots while she only knew that he, apparently, had none. She was convinced, however, that they were there: she just hadn't found them yet. It was only a matter of time, though! Really!

She sneezed.

* * *

Selendrile was worried (not that he'd ever admit it). His human was obviously unhealthy (although she tried, with no success at all, to hide this fact), which hadn't concerned him at first, since he'd been around humans enough to know that it was normal for them to get sick every now and then, and that these illnesses usually weren't terribly serious. Of course, he also knew of the sicknesses which they dreaded: the ones that slipped in slowly, seeming innocent at first, then, when they had gained a firm hold in their host, leached strength and vitality until they left as silently as they had come, leaving behind the stillness of death. Yes, he knew of the existence of these, and had even witnessed an epidemic a time or two, but he trusted Alys to know her own body, and tell him if things progressed too far. Perhaps, though, he'd been wrong to do so.

He'd chosen to travel by ground today, as he'd noticed the day prior that the thinner air at the altitudes where he flew seemed to worsen Alys' cough. He consciously slowed his pace, though, in consideration of her weakened state, and to his relief she didn't appear to notice. She was probably too occupied with how miserable she felt to take much note of anything else. She hardly said a word the entire day, instead stolidly plodding after him, her head drooping and her eyes fixed on the ground before her feet. The only sounds that came from her were the occasional cough. By the time twilight set in, she was practically swaying; she looked pale and exhausted, like she was about to collapse.

Selendrile halted in his tracks. Alys only followed suit when she walked straight into his back, then stopped right there, sighing tiredly and leaning into him. Selendrile felt his worry escalate; normally she would have leapt away immediately, blushing and stammering apologies. He didn't even want to imagine what state she must be in if she was acting like this.

He turned to face her; she still didn't move away. "Alys?" he prodded. She didn't respond. Then and there, he made a decision: he didn't care if he had to drag her kicking and screaming (although it was highly unlikely that she even had the energy for such, at this point); he was taking her to the nearest settlement and having her examined by someone familiar with human ailments. His human needed to be taken care of.

"Alys," his voice lowered, "you're sick. You need to see a healer."

She was silent for a while, and for a moment Selendrile thought that she wasn't going to respond at all. Then she sighed. "Alright," she whispered.

She promptly lost consciousness.

* * *

When Alys awoke, she was lying in a narrow cot in a small, dark room. A square window on her left side showed her that it was nighttime.

"You're awake," a voice commented. Alys turned her head to find Selendrile seated at her bedside, his form dim and shadowed save for his eyes, which burned with an intensity that they rarely showed.

"Yes," Alys said. She noted with surprise that her throat wasn't nearly as sore as it had been before her impromptu 'nap'. "I suppose I am. . . . What happened? Where am I? How long—?"

"You fainted," he smoothly interrupted. "The stress on your body was too much. I brought you to the nearest village and located a healer, whose house we are now in. That was over an hour ago. She's still trying to figure out exactly what's wrong with you."

Alys blinked. "Oh."

"Now that you're awake, she'll need to ask you some questions. I'll go get her."

He quietly exited the room, leaving Alys alone in the dark.

When he came back, he wasn't alone. A wispy, frazzled-looking woman accompanied him. A worn green gown hung limply off of her thin, bony form, and tired blue eyes looked out from a hollow face that could have belonged to someone anywhere between thirty and fifty. She was hastily pinning up her mop of frizzy brown hair as she came in behind Selendrile.

"Hello," the woman greeted in a high-pitched, nervous voice. "Alys, was it?" She nodded to herself as she brushed past Selendrile and approached the bed, not waiting for Alys to reply. "Ah, yes, yes, that was right. My name is Maude."

Alys' first thought was that for a healer, the woman didn't look as though she took very good care of herself. Her second was an odd, irrational discomfort at the idea of having those pale, bony fingers touch her. Despite this, she bore Maude's examination (which by necessity demanded a certain amount of contact) patiently (although with a certain amount of longsuffering), as well as the ensuing interrogation. Afterwards Maude beckoned Selendrile outside the room, leaving Alys alone once again, which rather irritated her. Maude had obviously discovered something that concerned her, shouldn't _Alys_ be the first (well, second) to know? She wasn't a child! She had a right to know!

She was about to voice her dissatisfaction, loudly, when Maude and Selendrile's conversation in the adjoining room grew in volume, allowing her to catch bits and pieces of it.

First, Selendrile. " . . . tell me! I don't want . . ." He sounded angry, which was bad. Selendrile showing that much emotion meant that something was very, very wrong.

". . . impossible! She shouldn't . . . and you . . ." That was Maude. None of it was very informative. All that Alys had garnered from her eavesdropping was that something was wrong, which she'd already discerned.

Just then, Selendrile came back into the room, alone this time. His face was blank, but Alys could see his anger in the tense set of his shoulders, and the darkness in his amethyst eyes.

"What is it?" she asked immediately. He paused and looked her in the eyes for a moment, then seemed to relax slightly.

"You're pretty bad off," he said, "but we knew that already. That woman," here there was acid in his tone, "says that your temperature is . . . off the charts. If it goes much higher, it could be deadly. You feel normal to me, but . . ." he shrugged and left the sentence unfinished; probably a wise idea considering their current whereabouts. It wouldn't do for Maude to overhear him commenting on the body temperatures of dragons, now would it?

"Still?" Alys asked, rather stunned. She'd guessed something of the sort, but . . . it just didn't seem _right._ She didn't feel on the verge of death, she felt _better_. The misery, soreness, and weariness which had been plaguing her seemed to have disappeared, as had her other symptoms. She felt healthy, not like she had a deadly fever. It somehow made the situation all the more frightening, like death was disguising itself and trying to sneak up on her. Almost wonderingly, she touched her own hand to her forehead, then felt immediately foolish. Of course she would feel normal to herself, there was no contrast.

"Still," agreed Selendrile. "She didn't want to tell you."

Alys frowned at that. "I don't like her," she decided on the spot.

His eyes shone with amusement as he looked at her, and for an instant she thought that he might smile. She was disappointed, however. "Neither do I," he said.

* * *

Alys resignedly tolerated any and all treatments thrown at her, even going so far as to drink the awful-tasting tea that Maude recommended. However, being in full possession of her faculties, she drew the line when the healer suggested bloodletting. Maude might have tried to force her "for her own good," except that Selendrile didn't like the idea either. He may not have known much about human illnesses or their treatments, but that particular practice seemed counterproductive to him.

"Draining her blood would only drain her strength," he told Maude. Under the dragon-youth's hard stare she wilted and agreed that perhaps other methods should be tried first.

Alys just felt confused by the whole thing. She still didn't feel sick at all, but Maude insisted that her fever, far from being gone, was rising. The healer bustled around busily and Selendrile, though he refused to leave the room for long, hovered in an out of the way corner so as not to inconvenience her. She brought him a bowl of porridge "to keep his strength up" as morning neared, but of course he left it untouched. Mostly he just stood there, occasionally holding something or shifting positions as directed by Maude, but just the knowledge that he was _there_, watching out for her, was enough to keep much of Alys' anxiety at bay. After awhile she fell into a restless sleep, her last sight a pair of shadowed purple eyes.

* * *

Throughout the night Selendrile kept watch, knowing that when dawn came he would have to leave. His human was ill, on the verge of death, and he would have to leave her. Not that he was doing a lot of good where he was. He'd never felt so frustrated and helpless in his life, not even during his iron-bound experience two months before. Despite his best efforts—despite everything he had done—his Alys was burning, albeit in a different sort of fire.

The sky to the east was growing steadily brighter, and Selendrile was reluctantly considering that it might be time to leave and await the dawn in dragon form, when Maude suddenly ceased in her ministrations to Alys. She lifted the wet cloth and held a hand to the sleeping girl's forehead, then sighed and turned to Selendrile, looking even more tired than she had before.

"Oh dear," she said quietly. "The girl's far too hot, and nothing I've done is bringing the fever down. By all rights she should be dead already, with that temperature. She'll be gone within the hour. I am sorry, young man, but there's nothing more that I can do."

Selendrile stared at the healer—willing her to take the words back, willing for things to be different. It wasn't true—it _couldn't_ be. His human wouldn't die—he wouldn't _let_ her! He wouldn't let her go. There was an unfamiliar ache in his chest, near his heart—a crushing pain that stole the breath from his lungs. It was unlike anything he had ever felt—and for the first time, he thought that perhaps he understood the human term 'broken hearted'. Alys was entrenched so deeply into his heart that even the thought of having her gone was enough to make its very foundations start to crumble.

"Nothing?" he repeated once he was sure that his voice would be steady.

Maude shook her head, an expression of sympathy on her pale, wan visage.

He searched for something—anything—to hold onto as his world continued crashing down around him. "What about . . . what about bleeding her? You said that that would help. We could try that."

Maude sighed. "It won't help at this point. She's g—"

"Just do it." His voice hadn't raised a single decibel, but it was menacing in a way that only a dragon could manage. The healer sent him a pitying look, but obeyed wordlessly.

_She's only a human, _Selendrile told himself as he watched Maude leave the room to gather the tools she needed. _She doesn't matter. Humans are short lived things, they breed like rabbits and die like flies. I've always known that. What do a few years matter in the long run? Alys was always going to die. It doesn't matter. I don't care. She doesn't matter. She's only a human. Just a human. _The mantra should have comforted him; it didn't. On the contrary, it only made him feel worse as he realized just how _untrue _it all was. Alys wasn't just a human, she was _his _human. She was precious to him. He didn't want her to be gone, he wanted her to be there for always. More than that—he _needed _her. Somewhere along the line, a life without Alys had become, to him, a life not worth living.

He moved closer to her bedside for the first time in hours and gazed down on her sleeping face, which was creased slightly in a frown. Taking a deep breath, he knelt and prepared to do something very human: throw dignity to the winds. "Listen to me, Alys," he whispered desperately. "Don't die on me yet. I can't save you this time, it's up to you. Please, Alys—listen to me. _Listen to me._ I need you. I _need _you. Don't die yet."

* * *

When Alys fought her way out of the shroud of sleep, it was to the sound of Selendrile's voice. For a moment, she didn't pay attention to the words, because the tone of them was so diverting: he sounded positively _emotional,_ which made no sense at all. Confused, Alys opened her eyes to meet his amethyst ones. "What?" she whispered.

Selendrile wore an odd expression; or perhaps it wasn't the expression that was odd, as much as the fact that it was _him _wearing it. He looked . . . relieved.

"You seem remarkably lucid," he said, like he was commenting on the time of day.

Alys managed an insincere smile. "I _feel _remarkably lucid," she said, some of her frustration leaking through into her voice. "In fact, I _feel _completely fine. I don't know . . ." she drifted off as she noticed something. "Why are you kneeling beside my bed?"

A long moment passed. "You're dying, Alys."

It was said in such a calm, neutral tone of voice that for a moment Alys thought that she might have misheard him. "I'm sorry?"

"The healer is going to bleed you," he continued in the same tone. "It's the best option at this time."

Her expression grew stubborn as she automatically opened her mouth to protest.

"It's the only option left, Alys."

Her mouth closed again abruptly as, for the first time, the full impact of his words truly hit her. "I really am dying, then?" she asked in a small voice.

Selendrile nodded silently, and then got to his feet. "It's nearly dawn. I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, and headed toward the exit. Alys wanted to call out, to ask him to stop—but she knew that he didn't really have a choice in the matter, so she remained silent and helplessly watched him go. He paused, though, right before he reached the door, and turned back to face her. "Alys?"

She swallowed. "Yes?"

"Don't die yet," he ordered, and it was such a very _Selendrile_ way to express concern that she couldn't stop a small smile from touching her lips.

"I'll do my best," she told him, and he nodded and left without saying anything further.

Maude entered the room and quickly moved into Selendrile's vacated place beside the bed, several sharp metal instruments in her long-fingered hands that made Alys feel queasy just looking at them.

"Close your eyes, dear," she said kindly when she saw Alys' expression. "It'll help."

Alys, though still apprehensive, obeyed. After a nervous moment, she felt a sharp pain on the inside of her right forearm; her eyes flew open. Not from the pain (she'd felt much worse), but because Maude had let loose a bloodcurdling scream and was now scrambling to get as far from the bed as possible, staring in horror at Alys.

* * *

He should have been long gone by this point, really. But he found himself with an inexplicable desire to drag his feet, and so was less than a hundred yards away when a terrified scream sounded from the house—from _Alys' _room. Instantly, the bright eastern sky was forgotten as he turned and sprinted back inside.

He reached the door to Alys' room quickly, but before he could move to open it, it was flung open from the inside, and a wild-eyed Maude came tumbling out. She staggered to her feet and made to rush past him, but he grabbed her by the arms and forced her to face him. She didn't even glance at him, though, her gaze instead darting desperately between Alys' open door and her escape route.

"What's going on?" Selendrile demanded. "Is Alys—?" he broke off, unwilling to bring the question into open air. She couldn't be dead—she'd _promised_.

Maude finally managed to drag her gaze to his face, and she froze when she saw his eyes—then began moaning in fear and struggling to free herself again. Selendrile, unfazed, simply waited for her to speak.

"Let go! You're just like her!" she gasped. "Look at those eyes—you the devils eyes, she the devil's blood in her veins!" The healer's eyes were wide and panicked. "Demons! Demons in my house! You've sold your souls! The devil's blood is in . . . her . . ." Things became too much for Maude at this point, and she collapsed in a dead faint. Selendrile didn't bother catching the woman, leaving her to fall to the floor as he stepped into Alys' room.

Few things could stun the dragon-youth into complete silence anymore—but the sight that met him when he stepped in the door did just that. Alys was sitting up in bed, looking surprised and frightened more than anything else as her gaze met Selendrile's. In fact, the only sign of injury or ill-health on her anywhere was on her right arm, which lay across the bed on her lap: it seemed that she hadn't yet noticed that the thin trickle of blood running from the wound there wasn't human red, but a bright, luminescent silver; like dragons' blood.

"Selendrile!" Alys' expression was a mixture of relieved and alarmed that should have been contradictory, but managed to coexist fairly well. "What's going _on _here? Do you know? Wait—" she paused. "What are you _doing_ here? The sun will rise any minute now!"

Shooting a startled glance at the window, Selendrile realized that he was right. They had to get out of here, now.

"What's going _on, _Selendrile?" Alys repeated. "I don't—I just—Maude was screaming, and I'm _confused._"

Rather than relieving her confusion, the dragon-youth scooped her up from the bed (ignoring the undignified squeak she made at the motion) and shifted her onto his back as though she weighed nothing (which, to him, she might as well have). She automatically clung to him as he wrenched the window open, the glass cracking in a few places from the force, then dove outside, shape-shifting as he went.

* * *

**AN: Don't forget to review before you go! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**


	3. Chapter 3: Warmth

**Chapter 3:  
****Warmth**

Unlike Alys, who had managed to get several hours of sleep in between bouts of Maude's poking and prodding, Selendrile had remained awake throughout the night, and was understandably quite tired. He ignored the heaviness in his weary wings, however, and flew determinedly towards the sunrise. Not that he had a particular destination—he just wanted to get away quickly.

He couldn't deny the sensation of utter _relief _that seemed to permeate him down to his very bones—his human _wasn't _deathly ill, she _wasn't _going to die—but even so, he was well aware that his relief was somewhat premature. After all, silver blood wasn't exactly normal for the average human. The situation wasn't _completely _unprecedented—occasionally an elf or faerie would form a close bond with a human, and that human would be affected in strange ways—but a _dragon _forming such a bond was entirely unheard of. His species were notorious for keeping to themselves. Even the different clans hardly ever intermingled among themselves, much less interacted with _humans._ So it was hardly surprising that nothing of this nature had occurred before. That, however, just added a new layer of uncertainty to the whole issue . . .

Truthfully, Selendrile was frightened: not for himself, by any means, but for his human (or could he call her that any longer? _Did _she still count as human?). The results of this kind of bonding were unpredictable, to say the least. Oftentimes the human's body would reject the change, and they would die in horrible agony. Luckily, Alys seemed to have passed that stage already, and had gotten through her bond-induced illness none the worse for wear. Selendrile was surprised (and somewhat impressed, actually) that she'd managed to stay on her feet as long as she had, what with what had to have been going on in her body (what he was _not _impressed with was her failure to inform him of just how bad it had gotten. What if it hadn't been a false scare? What if she'd really died?) It had been a close call in any case. Even though the sneezing and temperature had only been a side-effect of her body attempting to cope with the unnatural change occurring, if she'd still been fully human, the fever-like heat would most likely have killed her. Even without having to be concerned about her body adapting to the changes, however, that still left the changes themselves to worry about. He wasn't so naïve as to believe that Alys' dragon-blood would be the only change. In fact, it was probably nothing more than a symptom. Only time would tell what secrets Alys now held hidden inside her fragile human skin. He could only hope that she would be strong enough to deal with the changes when they came, and that she wouldn't hate him for transforming her into something she didn't recognize.

Something odd had been hovering at the back of his mind throughout the internal monologue, and as the trail of thought wound to a close and he began searching for a place to land, the thought (just two words, actually) crystallized itself in his mind, although what it meant was still beyond him: _Allergic reaction? What is that? Something human-related, obviously . . . Alys would probably know. _His eyes gained a wicked glint. _Maybe I'll ask her._

* * *

Selendrile's wing-beats slowed as he prepared for landing, and Alys sighed in relief. It was about _time. _Her irritation dissipated, though, as she noticed that the descent was quicker than usual, and when they touched down she was certain that she didn't imagine Selendrile's slight stumble. _He's been up all night, _she remembered, and instantly felt sheepish. Of course, that didn't excuse the way he'd been carting her around without so much as a by-your-leave, much less an explanation, but it did dampen her annoyance with sympathy.

The body beneath her shifted, and almost automatically she moved to edge down the extended leg, dropping down to the ground as soon as it was close enough. Selendrile shrugged his shoulders to loosen the tense muscles, now free of her weight, and eyed Alys.

"What?" She scowled.

He made an ambiguous dragon noise that could have been anything from a snort of laughter to an indignant huff, and transformed.

"Alys," he said, "what is an allergic reaction?" He then turned and looked at her expectantly, waiting for a reply.

Alys stared at him (at his face, of course. She refused adamantly to follow the usual route of blushing and averting her eyes (she swore that he did this on purpose sometimes _solely _to provoke just such a reaction from her), but neither did she wish to inadvertently catch a glimpse of his unclothed state). He was absolutely _infuriating!_ Did he actually think that she would just let that pass without comment? _No, _she decided, _I'm sure he doesn't. He's pushing my buttons on purpose, _she concluded. And it was so horribly, typically _Selendrile _of him that she wasn't sure whether to feel furious or affectionate. It _was _somewhat amusing, if looked at in the correct light . . .

"An allergic reaction," she parroted, incredulity clear in her voice. "Really."

"Yes," he said.

She laughed. She couldn't help it. Judging by Selendrile's raised eyebrow, that particular reaction was not one that he had anticipated.

"So, let me get this straight: first I come down with a mysterious, deadly fever, which then miraculously disappears, then the woman who was supposed to be healing me decides to spontaneously suffer a panic attack just from looking at me, and you randomly snatch me up and fly off without explaining anything—and then, when you _do _finally land, the first thing you do is ask me what an _allergic reaction _is?" Alys stared incredulously at the dragon-youth.

Selendrile tilted his head to the side, pretending great thoughtfulness, then nodded in agreement. "Yes. That sounds right. Alys, what is an allergic reaction?"

She sighed. But despite herself, she was a smile tugged up at the corners of her mouth. "It's—well . . ." she began uncertainly, trying to think of a way to explain it that he would understand, ". . . It's like getting sick. It's when a human's body reacts negatively to any, uh, substance that it doesn't like."

The dragon-youth nodded wordlessly in understanding.

Alys yawned hugely, finally turning her eyes away from Selendrile. It had been a stressful morning, and she was tired despite the early hour. She didn't even want to think about how Selendrile must feel. She collapsed with a sigh against the base of a wide-trunked oak tree, studiously ignoring the always-curious gaze on her. Should she wait for him to talk?

No, she decided. It was highly likely that the waiting would be in vain, anyway.

"Are you going to explain what happened back there?" she asked without preamble.

Amethyst eyes darkened. Selendrile, to Alys' surprise, came forward and sat himself down next to her, gently grasping her right forearm and turning it so that she could see the strange, now dry silver streaks running down the underside. A chill ran down her spine, and she remembered dreams of flying and silver blood.

"What is that?" she asked in a quiet, rather shaky voice, very much afraid that she already knew the answer.

Selendrile remained quiet for a long moment, looking at her as though gauging her reaction to his next words. "Blood," he murmured.

She inhaled sharply, clenching her eyes shut against the sudden rush of adrenaline. She'd _known_—suspected, at least—what Selendrile's answer would be, but having it confirmed was . . . terrifying. It felt like her nightmare was coming true right before her eyes.

"Selendrile," she said, her voice strained, "Selendrile, what—why—?" She stopped and opened her eyes, looking into his calm amethyst ones. "What's happening to me?"

Surprising her, he let his hand drift down to take hers in a comforting squeeze. "I will explain."

He released her hand and leaned back, resting his back against the tree trunk and turning his eyes toward the sky. "It is said," he began, not looking at her, "that when a fey creature spends enough time with a human and—bonds with them, for lack of a better term, the fey's magic sometimes seeks to make the connection tangible . . . and when it finds no magic to connect to in the human, it creates its own, changing the human into something . . . other. Understand that this sort of occurrence is rare—very rare—I, myself, have never heard of a concrete example. Especially . . ." he drifted off.

Alys, who had become interested enough to relax slightly, tensed again. "Especially _what?_" she asked guardedly.

Selendrile sighed. ". . . Especially an occasion where the human in question survived their transformation." He watched Alys' reaction carefully, but she only blinked and let loose a shuddering sigh.

"I guess I'm really lucky, then."

He stood up abruptly and took a few steps toward the stream. "Yes. You could say that. The fever, all the symptoms were your body's—hm, _allergic reaction _to the changes. It's highly doubtful that your blood will be the only difference . . . But—I'm afraid that you're no longer quite—mortal."

Alys froze. Her breathing sped up, and she found herself rising to her feet and going to Selendrile's side. When she touched his arm he turned to face her, his expression carefully neutral. She needed more than that.

"_What am I?_" she whispered, desperately reaching for reassurance.

Something stirred in his violet eyes. "You're—" he began, but paused, looking down at the streak of silver still on her arm. Mirroring the placement, he used one sharp fingernail to make a small cut in his own arm, immediately causing silver blood to well up. He looked up and met Alys' startled gaze, and his eyes said, _We're the same. _Aloud, he replied, "You're fey now."

And in Alys memory, the dream-Selendrile hissed, _You're __mine__._ She shuddered at the remembrance, but looking into the real Selendrile's calm eyes reassured her.

"It did not occur to me that this might happen when I asked you to stay with me," he added slowly, and Alys knew that that was the closest thing to an apology that she would ever receive from him.

She sighed and went back to the oak tree, chuckling a little as she sat down and closed her eyes. When the laughter threatened to become hysterical, though, she clamped her mouth shut abruptly. She could just imagine Selendrile's expression as he stared at her, wondering whether or not her weak human (well, almost-human) mind had finally decided to collapse under the strain.

"You know," she said in a conversational tone, just to break the silence, "I'm exhausted, but I really doubt that I'll be able to get to sleep after—that."

The sound of grass blades crunching under Selendrile's feet as he moved closer reached Alys' ears. She spent a moment wondering at how odd it was that she could hear the sound at all, before realizing in a surreal instant that it was probably related to her 'changes'. Selendrile _had_ mentioned that there would probably be others.

"Alright then," Selendrile said, his voice sounding strange to Alys' ears. "I'll give you a gift."

Alys shot up from her relaxed position, her eyes flying open. She lunged forward and grabbed the astonished dragon-youth by his forearms, shouting, "NO!" They held the position for a long, awkward moment, before Alys, blushing heavily, released him and stepped back. "Um—sorry?" she said sheepishly.

Selendrile merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed. "You have something against gifts?" he queried, sounding amused.

Alys' blush grew deeper. "Uh, no. It's just that—what you said reminded me of a strange dream (a nightmare, really) that I had once, and I just . . . reacted without thinking."

An expression that Alys couldn't interpret came over Selendrile's face. "What was the dream about?" he asked.

She fidgeted, reluctant to tell him—especially considering his role in the dream. It felt _personal_, like he was asking her to reveal a small part of her soul . . . but she decided with a sigh that giving him a condensed version of events wouldn't hurt anything.

"The dream started in a meadow a lot like this one, actually. You came out of the woods, there, and you were acting very strange . . ."

She proceeded to narrate the main points of the dream, and Selendrile listened with interest throughout. If he was disturbed at all, it didn't show.

"Hmm," he murmured when she had finished. "How very . . ." there was a pause as he appeared to search for the correct word, ". . . odd."

Alys suppressed a wry grin. "I believe the words you're searching for are 'morbid' and 'disturbing'."

He looked sidelong at her. "No. Just odd."

Alys sighed, but a smile touched her lips. Selendrile tended to have that effect on her (along with silver, glowing blood and enhanced senses, of course). Then she blinked rapidly as something occurred to her. "What was the gift?" she wondered aloud.

"Lay down, close your eyes, and I'll show you," the dragon-youth responded.

Alys eyed him suspiciously, but complied, stretching out on the grass in the bright fall sunshine.

"On your stomach," he clarified, and she warily turned over, still not quite trusting him. He did seem to enjoy provoking her above any other activity, after all . . .

She stiffened when hands touched her back. "What are you doing?" Her voice, much to her embarrassment, came out as a squeak.

Selendrile made a low, soothing humming noise, so quietly that she was sure that a normal human wouldn't have been able to hear it, and she relaxed a little despite herself.

"It will help you sleep," he explained. "Just relax and enjoy it."

Alys wanted to protest, but the massage _was_ terribly relaxing . . . she could already feel her eyelids growing heavy, and her mind drifting into a lax, sleepy state. "What about you?" she murmured, yawning through the words. "You've been up all night, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. And as such, I will have no trouble falling to sleep." He'd injected a faintly condescending tone into his voice, but Alys was far too sleepy and calm at the moment to bother getting up in arms about it. _Maybe tomorrow, _she thought, sighing.

"Hmm . . . Selendrile?" she asked sleepily.

The dragon-youth made an inquiring noise in response.

"Where did you learn how to do this? It's . . ." Alys drifted off, unable to put words to the feeling.

She could hear the smile in the dragon-youth's voice as he replied (although he would have denied it if asked, she _knew_), "Young dragonets often have trouble sleeping, and massaging them helps. It's a bit different on a human, but the basics are the same."

Alys struggled to keep her eyes open. "Do you have children, then?"

There was a long moment of silence, then he replied slowly, "No. But I was sometimes pressed into—(Ah, what do humans call it?) . . . baby-sitting."

Suddenly understanding his reluctance to answer, Alys couldn't suppress a quiet giggle at the thought of _Selendrile, _the epitome of pride and dignity, actually _baby-sitting _(dragonet-sitting?).

She slipped into peaceful sleep to the sound of his put-upon sigh.

* * *

_She was sprawled on the cool grass at the cliff's edge, her chin resting in her hands as she gaze up at the stars in wonder. The were so beautiful—but so cold, so distant; beyond the understanding of a mere almost-mortal. They would light your way, but never warm you._

_She shivered at the thought, and at the cool breeze flowing off the ocean. "Papa," she said, turning to look at the man beside her, "I'm cold."_

_He smiled gently, the hazel eyes which she had inherited shining sympathetically in the starlight. "I'm sorry, my dear Alys," he said sadly, "but I'm not real. You know that I would help you if I could, but I cannot; this is only a dream."_

_Alys sat up, her eyes widening with shock and panic. "But, Papa—"_

_But he did not hear her, for his body had dissolved into a cluster of bright-shining stars, which whirled around for a moment before floating up to join their brethren in the distant sky._

"_No__!" Alys cried, leaping to her feet. She stretched her arms uselessly toward the unreachable heavens and cried out her distress, but no one answered._

"_Why did you leave me?" she sobbed. "There's no one, now! You were all I had left!" She lowered her arms in favor of wrapping them around her torso to conserve warmth, shivering as the merciless wind tore at her, biting her with its chill. "I'm so cold . . ."_

_Then there was . . . warmth. Bright, golden light that sunk deep into her skin, warming her down to her very core. For a moment she thought that the sun had risen—but when she turned to look, there were only golden scales, vicious, sharp teeth and claws, and amethyst eyes: a dragon; a human's natural enemy. She should have been terrified, but instead, she felt inexplicably comforted. _

_::__**I am here**__,:: a voice said, and Alys knew, somehow, that it was the dragon. _

_She smiled as the breeze that no longer seemed so cold dried her tears. "Selendrile," she murmured._

* * *

When Alys woke, it was to the cold. It was approaching winter, and with no overcast sky to hold in the heat of the day, the nights were very chilly. She shivered, sitting up and rubbing goose bump-covered arms. Glancing around the moonlit meadow, she saw that Selendrile had managed to procure their belongings while she slept; they were piled in an untidy heap against the base of the gnarled old oak tree.

Selendrile himself was curled up, asleep, in dragon-shape, his breathing quiet even to her ears despite his enormous size. Alys' eyes widened as she thought of something _that_ size snoring—then fervently thanked her lucky stars that he didn't. She pulled a thin blanket that hadn't been there when she went to sleep (it had to be Selendrile's doing, then) up around her shoulders. It didn't help much, and she resigned herself to not getting any more sleep that night.

The golden dragon-youth's sleeping form let out a sigh, sending a gust of warm air over Alys' shivering body, and for a moment she looked wistfully at the heat-emanating body before catching herself and giving an adamant shake of the head. She wasn't _that_ desperate . . . yet.

After 15 minutes had passed in the cold, Alys was reconsidering her decision. After half an hour, when she felt as though her toes were freezing off and sleep still remained frustratingly out of reach, doing something crazy actually sounded like a rather attractive prospect. And so, with a sigh that was part resignation and part delighted expectancy, she got to her feet and shuffled toward the large golden mound that was her dragon companion. As she drew closer she was enveloped in a delicious wave of warmth, and she positively shuddered with pleasure and relief.

Blanket still tucked around her, Alys curled up against warm golden scales and was asleep like someone had flicked a slight switch.

She never even noticed when the body next to her gave an amused huff.

* * *

**AN: Don't forget to review before you go! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**


	4. Chapter 4: A Carp Named Thaddeus

**Chapter 4:****  
****A Carp Named Thaddeus**

An hour or two before dawn, one large amethyst eye opened a crack and gazed down at the sleeping woman curled up against his side, deeply asleep. Seeing her now, an onlooker would never guess that she was anything other than human. But Selendrile knew better . . . he'd seen her bleed sliver. That didn't excuse him from forgetting how cold the nights would be to her still-adjusting body, of course . . . but he couldn't claim that he was particularly displeased with the results of his slipup. Glancing lazily up at the sky to determine the time, Selendrile bared a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth in something that might be called a smile, if one had a very loose definition of the word, and the amethyst eye was covered once again.

He wondered if he should feel regret. There was none, despite what he had done to her . . . despite what he had made her become. Perhaps it was because, looking at her now, he could see no discontent in her. By all rights they should be enemies, human and dragon—by all rights she should want to be as far from him as possible. But she persisted, she stayed with him . . . and she seemed to be _happy._ Why, he could not fathom. Surely the life they lived was not one that the typical human would desire? But then . . . He snorted. Alys was hardly the typical human. If she were a typical human, she wouldn't be Alys. She wouldn't be so important to him . . . she wouldn't be the meaning of his existence.

_Humans would call it 'love', I suppose, _he thought sleepily, and the notion was strangely unsurprising. He never had been very good at deceiving himself.

* * *

_Her bare feet dangled casually off of the bank and dipped into the bubbling brook, the summer sun warming her back. Part of her wondered irritably why the seasons seemed to like switching around so much, but mostly she was just enjoying the sunshine as a change from the cold fall weather she had experienced most recently. A content smile played around her lips, and her feet dabbled in the water, making small splashes. She knew that she was dreaming—was oddly certain of it, at that—but the knowledge didn't manage to dim her happiness in the slightest._

_This dream, though, was different from the others that she'd been having lately. This was so much more vivid, more sensory—more __real__. The detail was truly incredible, as was her lucidity. She'd never experienced anything quite like it. If she hadn't known better, she would have said that she was awake. Dismissing her curiosity for the time being, though, she merely closed her eyes and soaked up the sunshine._

_Then something nudged her foot. Her eyes opened, and she glanced down curiously to see that in the water around her feet, a small carp was swimming, which she had paid no attention to before. However, upon closer inspection, it had a rather unusual eye color. She smiled._

"_Selendrile," she called cheerfully, "enough lurking! Come out and talk." It was actually rather fun, in wicked sort of way, bossing him around when he was in no position to defend himself. The fish, not seeming nearly as amused, sent her a fishy death-glare and complied. Only, it wasn't Selendrile._

_Amethyst eyes, matching Selendrile's perfectly, gazed up at her, looking vaguely exasperated. "Mama," the dark-haired boy sighed, "I'm not __Daddy__, stop being silly! It's me, Tad!" He grinned at her, and on a face so similar to the dragon-youth's (albeit much younger—he looked about ten), the expression was downright __bizarre__. _

_Alys' heart fluttered. She knew instantly, looking at the boy before her, whose child he was. Though the resemblance to Selendrile was strongest, she was there too: in his hair, in the shape of his nose, in the fullness of his lips. She had never before wished for a dream to be real—but suddenly longing struck her. This was their child; hers and Selendrile's._

"_Tad?" she whispered._

_His sigh held a longsuffering note. "Yes, Mama, my name is Tad! You should know, you named me," he teased. When she didn't respond, merely staring at him with a pale face and wide eyes, his expression suddenly became concerned. "Are you alright, Mama?"_

_She closed her eyes, praying to wake up—for this bittersweet torture to __end__. It had never occurred to her to want children—but now that the idea had been introduced, she wanted it so much that it __hurt__. No, not just children—she wanted Tad. _

"_Mom!"_

_Alys jerked in surprise at the shout (which had been disturbingly close by) and glanced up into Tad's alarmed purple eyes, which hovered inches away from her own. _

"_Are you sick? Papa told me that humans are fragile and get sick all the time. You used to be human, right?" He gasped, eyes wide. "We have to get Papa!"_

_Without waiting for Alys' response (perhaps assuming (correctly) that none was coming), Tad turned and sprinted up the hill behind the stream, shouting worriedly, "Papa! Mom's acting weird! Is she sick? Is it an aller—alleric—um, reaction?" The dragon-boy rapidly disappeared out of sight, and Alys lingered, unsure as to whether she was meant to follow._

_The wait was not a long one; merely a few nervous minutes passed before voices approached; two of them, both familiar. One was Tad, of course, and the other . . . _

_Sure enough, when Tad crested the rise, Selendrile was right behind him. He looked—different, though. She stared, trying to determine what exactly the change was, but the only thing that was immediately apparent was that he was actually __clothed__—shirt and everything; quite a change from the norm._

_Selendrile paused when their eyes met, one eyebrow rising quizzically at her rather lost expression, but Tad tugged at his hand impatiently until he got moving again. _

"_Alys?" he queried, coming to a stop in front of her. "Tad says you're not feeling well?" He opened his mouth as though to speak further, but then suddenly went silent, an odd expression crossing his face, like he was trying to recall something._

_She latched onto his voice like a landline; it seemed that there was one thing, at least, that hadn't changed one bit. _

"_I'm fine," she replied automatically, then blinked, wondering if it was true. "At least—I think I'm fine. I suppose that I would wake up if anything happened to make me __not__ fine, wouldn't I?" Realizing that she was rambling, Alys abruptly went silent, blushing a little._

_Tad looked very, very confused—but Selendrile wore an expression of dawning comprehension. _

"_I suppose you would," he agreed after a moment of thought. He ruffled Tad's hair comfortingly before crossing the remaining distance between himself and Alys, then leaned down, as if to kiss her—but he paused just before their lips touched. _

_Alys' breath caught in shock and anticipation, and her lips parted slightly. She wasn't sure whether she wanted the dragon-youth to close the gap or not. On one hand, she had no objection whatsoever to kissing Selendrile. On the other, kissing him in a __dream__ seemed rather like a cheap replacement. Cheating, even._

_The point was moot, however; Selendrile withdrew with a reluctant sigh, his amethyst eyes meeting her hazel ones with a rueful expression. "I'd kiss you, but I don't think that your Selendrile would like that very much," he murmured conspiratorially so that Tad couldn't hear. "Besides, I know that you'll think that this was all just a dream when you wake up." A hint of his familiar smirk touched his lips. "You did tell me so, after all."_

_Turning to Tad, the dragon-youth said, "Thaddeus, your mom is just a little tired, that's all. She'll be back to normal any minute. He gave her one last smile, and that, along with their son's relieved expression, faded with the rest of the vivid dream into the fog of sleep._

* * *

Dreamy hazel eyes opened just a crack, taking in the world around her and affirming that she was actually awake this time. When she affirmed that this was the case, she gave a long, slow sigh that was almost a sob, tucking her head into her arms. She had wanted the dream to end while it lasted, but now that it was over she found herself on the verge of tears, merely because of the certainty she felt that the world of the dream would never be reality; Tad would never exist.

"Thaddeus," she whispered miserably. She would have thought it terrible—and perhaps a bit pathetic—how attached she had become to the child that her subconscious had produced. But in the dream, he had felt like _her son_—and the bond between mother and child couldn't be so easily dismissed. So, despite the ache in her heart, she took the dream and placed it carefully among her most precious memories: the memory of the son that would never be.

She allowed herself another moment to enjoy the comforting warmth of the dragon-youth's proximity before sighing and sitting up—only to find that Selendrile was already awake, violet eyes directed lazily at her.

"Oh," she said sheepishly, suddenly remembering that she hadn't asked for permission before deciding to borrow her companion's body heat. "Um . . . I was cold."

He blinked lazily at her, not appearing too terribly upset that his personal bubble had been invaded, then shrugged massive shoulders and stood. Alys gave him space while he stretched and kneaded the dirt with his claws (rather like a very large housecat, Alys thought privately, but she would never say as much to his face), and for her efforts, she received a puff of smoke blown in her general direction. She waved it away and sighed.

Finished with his morning ritual, Selendrile shifted into a form more conducive to communication. The first thing he asked was, "Who's Thaddeus?" His tone of voice was bland, but for an instant Alys thought that she detected an off note in it—possessiveness, or even jealousy. The next moment, though, she was scoffing inwardly, dismissing this as a ridiculous fancy brought on by too many dreams and an overactive imagination.

"My son," she replied without thinking. It didn't occur to her the way that this must have sounded until Selendrile's eyes went wide for a moment, then narrowed.

"Your _son_?" He sounded incredulous, and Alys hurried to explain, unconsciously stepping forward and resting a hand on his arm.

"No! I mean—You can't actually believe—?" She stopped, took a deep breath to gather composure, then continued much more coherently, "I had a _dream _that I had a son named Thaddeus. Tad."

Selendrile blinked, then seemed to settle, the expression of alarm fading from his eyes. "I see. Do you want children, then?" Curious eyes landed inquisitively on her, and she shifted uneasily.

"It depends," she said quietly, lowering her eyes.

He raised an eyebrow. "On what?"

Despite her best efforts to suppress it, a blush spread rapidly across Alys' cheeks and neck. In a murmur almost too low for even Selendrile to hear, she answered, "The father."

Selendrile's expression went inscrutable for a moment. "Did you have someone particular in mind?" he asked.

Alys clenched her hands into fists. Then she made sure that her breathing was steady and even, calmed the wild fluttering of her hear in her chest, looked up to meet Selendrile's gaze, and lied for all she was worth: "No."

Their eyes held for a long moment; Alys wondered if it was her imagination that she caught a glimpse of disappointment in his. She looked away first.

"Could you please put some clothes on?" she asked petulantly, trying to break the oddly serious mood.

It seemed to work. Selendrile looked amused, apparently enjoying her discomfort as much as ever, but obediently went to the rucksack and dug around inside for a pair of breeches.

Alys studiously avoided looking in his direction while he dressed. "I don't know why you enjoy this so much. You'd think that a who-knows-how-old dragon would have found bigger and better things to amuse himself with, but nooo, 'Tormenting Alys' is right there at the top of your list of favorite things to do. There!" she exclaimed, watching a faint smirk appear on his lips. "See that? See the smirk-ful-ness?"

There was a pause, and Selendrile blinked, looking at her. "Smirk-ful-ness?"

Her chin rose stubbornly. "Yes."

"You have such a way with words, Alys," he told her condescendingly.

Alys opened her mouth to retaliate—then sighed. "Thanks," she said wryly

He actually looked _disappointed_—and she couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Alys loved flying. Depending on the day (and how mischievous Selendrile was feeling), it could alternately make her feel thrilled and exhilarated, or completely at peace; high above the world, far beyond all troubles. Of course, there were also the times when it went on for so long that she got the inevitable travel boredom . . . but that was beside the point.

Today, though, she felt inexplicably sad. She felt like she belonged here, in the sky with Selendrile . . . But she _didn't_. Humans weren't designed for aerobatics; their feet were meant to remain firmly upon the ground. No matter how at home Alys felt in the sky, she wasn't a dragon; she had to rely upon Selendrile's wings to carry her. Of course, she wasn't really human anymore either, was she? She'd forgotten for a moment.

'_I'm afraid that you're no longer quite—mortal', _Selendrile had said. What was she, then? Had he merely been referencing the fact that she was now fey, or did he believe that she had actually lost her mortality . . . become _im_mortal?

Maybe she wouldn't have to lose this.

Closing her eyes, Alys remained intensely aware of the world around her. Closest by was Selendrile: the warmth of his body, the steady whoosh of his wing-strokes; the strong, vital beating of his heart. His dragon-heart. She wondered, not sure whether the thought made her more frightened or curious, what her heart was now. . . . Certainly not human, not with the silver, decidedly nonhuman liquid that it now pumped through her veins. She thought for a moment, then decided that it didn't matter: whatever it was now, it didn't feel much different than it had before.

The rest of her, however, was a different story. Every inch of her skin hummed with awareness, hypersensitive to even the slightest touch. She assumed that this would pass once the novelty had worn off and she had grown accustomed to her new abilities—or hoped so, anyway. As incredible as it was, she didn't think that she'd appreciate it nearly as much if she had to live with it 24/7. Now, though, she drank in every sensation: the silk-smooth, yet diamond-hard feel of Selendrile's scales beneath her hand; the coarse, somewhat fuzzy texture of the blue cotton gown she wore; the moisture in the air; the breeze against her skin.

_No,_ she thought, slowly reopening her eyes. _. . ._ _Definitely not human._

It was odd; only a few months ago, she had been nothing more than Alys the tin-smith's daughter: sans dragon, sans silver blood, and sans enhanced senses. Now she was just sans her humanity . . . but if that was the price she had to pay for Selendrile, then she was more than glad to part with it.

* * *

**AN: Don't forget to review before you go! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**


	5. Chapter 5: Premonition

**Chapter 5:  
****Premonition**

_Alys was in the air again, but this time there was no Selendrile to support her. Instead, gravity's hold on her met no resistance, and she hurtled inexorably towards the earth's surface. Her heart raced in abject terror, knowing that death was near and trying desperately to supply her with adrenaline in hopes that she might escape it somehow. When she opened her mouth to try to scream the sound was simply torn from her lips, going unheard as the wind of her passage howled in her ears, her speed increasing with every moment. The ground grew closer and closer. She was forced to close her eyes when the wind pressure became too much, but she felt it when her body tore through a layer of clouds, dousing her in icy water. Death drew near, and she couldn't even open her eyes to see it._

_Where was Selendrile?_

_She tried to scream again, but it was useless. He couldn't hear her. No one heard her._

_He did not come._

_But then—_

_**::Alys!::**_

_She gasped and tried futilely to open her eyes. Selendrile was here! But the wind only howled louder, and her fall remained uninterrupted._

_**::Why are you still falling, Alys?::**_

_At that moment she could have cheerfully punched the dragon-youth, no matter what form he was in. What kind of stupid question was that? She was still falling because he hadn't caught her yet! The fear, which had been swept away in favor of relief when she heard his familiar voice, returned full force. Was he just going to let her fall to her death?_

_**::Have you forgotten what you are?::**__ the voice asked, sounding a bit patronizing, and Alys suddenly felt extremely foolish. Of course, it was no wonder that Selendrile hadn't lent her his wings; he was waiting for her to use her own._

_And just like that, she opened hazel eyes that suddenly weren't strained at all, and unfurled her wings from her sides. They immediately caught the air, halting her freefall with a rather painful jerk, and the wind stopped its incessant howling, leaving a mere pleasant breeze. _

_**::No,::**__ she sheepishly told the dragon-youth who descended to fly placidly at her side. __**::I have not forgotten.::**_

* * *

Alys experienced a period of disorientation as she woke, wondering why she felt so small, and why she didn't seem to be using her wings even though the air currents clearly told her that she was airborne. Then it occurred to her that she didn't normally _have_ wings, and as her eyes opened and she grew more alert, it was rather simple to conclude that she had been dreaming. She couldn't quite decide whether it had been a good dream or a bad dream, though.

Riding on dragon-back so often, she had grown comfortable enough to fall asleep on Selendrile's back as he carried her. She'd even fallen off once, although he had been quick to swoop down and catch her in his talons before she could fall too far. Still, the experience had been terrifying; probably what had inspired her most recent dream. However, unlike in reality, in the dream she'd been able to save herself, albeit with Selendrile's prompting.

Her lips quirked into a quiet grin as she imagined _actually _falling off of Selendrile's back and then suddenly sprouting wings—the _look _on his _face_ . . . Forcing herself to stifle the chuckle that threatened to escape, she reluctantly dismissed the daydream. It was fun to think about, sure, but utterly impossible. Then again, she thought wryly, what else was there to do but daydream while she was up here? It wasn't like she could hold a conversation with Selendrile, not while he remained in his dragon form.

A thought struck her then, and she smiled, running a hand down the scales of Selendrile's neck. She could _try_.

"Selendrile?" she inquired innocently, not bothering to raise her voice as his advanced senses would hear her even over the wind. One large amethyst eye rolled back to give her an irritated glance, and Alys started to grin. It reminded her of the look that Tad had given her when she'd been teasing him in his fish form . . .

But Tad was only a dream, and remembering as much left Alice abruptly feeling cold and desolate. She turned away from Selendrile's now curious gaze so that he wouldn't see her sudden heartache and took a moment to gather herself. When she looked up again, her expression was much more cheerful—not that she really thought that Selendrile would be fooled (he never was), but it might forestall him from asking questions later. In an attempt to distract him, she blurted the first thing that came to her mind: "Your eyes are very purple."

Selendrile blinked very slowly at her (probably the closest he could get to a sardonically raised eyebrow at the moment, considering that currently had none), and Alys winced as she reviewed her own words. Well, to look on the bright side, at least they were appropriately distracting. "You know . . . Never mind. Could we stay at an inn tonight? I would really enjoy sleeping on an actual bed, for once . . . We need to resupply, anyway. We're almost out of salt and soap."

He narrowed his one visible eye at her.

"Is that a yes?" she asked hopefully, but then became suspicious. There was a speculative gleam in his eye that she didn't like. She narrowed her eyes right back at him and opened her mouth to voice her suspicions—but what came out instead was an embarrassingly loud scream as the dragon-youth dove toward the ground with mind boggling speed and did a cartwheel in the air for good measure, leaving Alys scared stiff and clinging to him for dear life. It was lucky for him that she had a good stomach for this sort of thing, or else there would be vomit all over his obsessively clean scales.

"_Selendrile!_" Alys shouted indignantly as soon as they were level again, inwardly attempting to convince her arms that it was safe to release their death-grip from Selendrile's neck. "Don't _do _stuff like that, you stupid dragon! You'll get us both _killed _one of these days!"

Completely unaffected by his companion's shouting, Selendrile instead seemed infernally pleased with himself. But perhaps he did feel a bit guilty, for when dusk started to fall he drifted down to earth within a few miles a settlement that would most assuredly contain an inn, as she had requested (wheedled) earlier. Or maybe it was just an oblique hint that she was starting to stink and they really needed to stock up on soap.

Once Alys had dismounted, the dragon-youth wasted no time in shape-shifting and taking the pack from his blushing companion, then dressing in the breeches and shirt that he found inside, though he grimaced slightly at the necessity of donning the latter (neither one of them wanted to be held responsible for the outbreak of swooning females that would probably result if he entered the village shirtless). He then turned wordlessly and made for the village, and Alys, who had expected him to be more verbose after a day of no communication whatsoever, followed, frowning. _She _wouldn't be the first to break the silence.

Her resolve lasted for about five minutes. "Selendrile?"

He turned to her immediately, wearing an expression that would have seemed neutral to almost anyone else but to Alys was clearly _smug_, and said, "Yes?"

She blinked, suddenly realizing that she hadn't actually planned what she was going to say; she'd just wanted to break the silence. However, wishing to avoid a repeat of the 'Purple Eyes' Incident (as she had mentally dubbed it), she made sure that the words coming out of her mouth were at least somewhat reasonable before she said them. "Um . . . What's the name of this town?"

He shot her an amused look that told her in no uncertain terms that she wasn't fooling anybody, but played along anyway, answering simply, "Harperton."

She unconsciously went silent as they walked, watching the way his eyes crinkled a bit at the corners even when his mouth didn't smile, and remembered why she loved the idiot even when he was being infuriating. By the time she realized how long they'd gone without talking, the silence had become comfortable; companionable, and she was reluctant to break it, even when it occurred to her that she didn't know what story Selendrile planned on using this time. Neither of them spoke again until they reached the outskirts of Harperton. The town was fairly large, and enough people walked the streets that his cautious far-off landing made sense. Selendrile stopped one of these (a woman who, judging by the dazed look in her eyes when she looked at him, would have been one of the shirtless-Selendrile swooners) to get directions to the inn. As it turned out, the town had two of them, but Selendrile opted for the one that didn't appear to be flea-infested.

The building was two stories, a bit rickety-looking, but clean. Cheerful yellow lettering above the porch proclaimed it to be called _The Laughing Loon_, and Selendrile, detaining her before she could enter, instructed her to wait there while he went inside and arranged things. By the time she opened her mouth to ask exactly what story they would be telling this time, he was already through the door and out of sight.

_Gone,_ some part of her whispered, illogically distressed. She frowned. He'd just gone inside for a moment; there was no need to get abandonment issues! But foreboding suddenly struck her; she knew, with a certainty that she couldn't explain, that that word—that _'Gone',_ had been a warning. Selendrile was going to leave her. Not just one day, not just in some far-distant future, but _soon._ She knew it like she knew her name was Alys.

Miserably she leaned against the wall, her head in her arms, and took quick, rapid breaths that threatened to degenerate into sobs; images flashed through her head, visions of a lonely life (perhaps an _immortal _life) without Selendrile by her side, but there was nothing supernatural about them: her imagination was more than sufficient. Before any conscious desire to do such had passed through her mind she found herself straightening and taking a step towards the entrance where Selendrile had gone, disregarding his instructions in the face of the fear of abandonment that gripped her like a vise—and she didn't have the willpower to stop herself after that. She needed to see him; to make sure that he was still there—at least for the moment.

As she pushed open the door Selendrile glanced up from his position where he leaned on the bar, apparently charming the plump, blushing middle-aged woman behind it. He smiled in greeting, but it wasn't his real smile, which was far rarer. Rather, belying his pleasant expression, his eyes showed his annoyance that she hadn't done as he'd told her to.

"Hello, Julie," he greeted. Alys wasn't at all fazed by the false name; it was standard procedure for them by now. Maude's house had been the exception, rather than the rule. "Drusilla," he said, turning back to the woman he'd been talking to before, "this is my sister, Julie. Julie, this is Drusilla Hampton, the inn's matron."

Alys, trying to be friendly to the poor woman (who was obviously as bewitched by Selendrile's good looks as all the women they encountered seemed to be), pushed her foreboding to the back of her mind and managed a smile. However, enough lingering fear remained that she couldn't quite convince herself not to step forward and link her arm through the dragon-youth's, just to make sure that he was real; that he was solid. Selendrile must have seen her distress beneath the smile, for the annoyance in his eyes faded to be replaced by concern, and he didn't pull away from her touch.

"Hello," Alys greeted the cheerful-looking woman.

Drusilla promptly beamed, dimpling. "It's so lovely to meet you!" she gushed happily. "Your brother was just telling me about that awful incident with the wolves last night. How are you feeling? You've recovered well, I hope?" She somehow pulled off looking cheerful and concerned at the same time, which Alys had always before considered to be something of a contradiction in terms.

Alys hadn't a clue what ridiculous tale her 'brother' had spun (apparently it involved wolves), but she nodded agreeably in the face of Drusilla's sympathy and did her best to look like whatever she was supposed to look like—maybe young and victimized. "I'm alright," she said reassuringly. "It was terrifying, of course, but my brother was there, and he made sure that I wasn't hurt." She made sure to send said dragon-youth an adoring glance, like he was the older brother who could do no wrong in her eyes, all the while wondering how anyone could ever actually believe that they were siblings. They didn't look a _thing _alike.

Drusilla looked very admiring of Alys' bravery, and, needless to say, was more than willing to put them up for the night.

* * *

Alys followed the Selendrile meekly up the stairs, knowing without it being explicitly stated that he wanted to talk where they wouldn't be overheard. She knew him well enough to read the signs. Sure enough, as soon as they were in his room and the door was closed he turned to her and said quietly, to deter possible eavesdroppers, "What is it? What's wrong? You came in when I told you to wait . . . Did something happen out there?"

She found herself unable to meet is eyes and dropped her gaze to the floor, shrugging. "I had—" she started to explain, but paused, realizing that any way she put it would make her sound just a little batty. Eventually she gave a mental shrug and, deciding that there was no help for it, continued, "I just wanted to see you. You'll be gone soon." The conviction in her voice as she said this was eerie, and probably the only thing that kept Selendrile from denying it immediately.

"What do you mean?" he asked instead.

She shrugged again. "You're going to leave me."

"I will _not _leave," he retorted immediately, quiet but forceful, as though he were trying to match her unnatural conviction with his own. "I'm not going to abandon you."

Finally, she looked up and met his eyes, but hers were still sad; his words, however much he meant them at the time, were belied by what she _knew_ was true. "Don't make promises that you can't keep. You don't think that you'll leave, but it will happen all the same. You'll be gone before noon tomorrow," she said, her complete belief in what she was saying shining through once again. Selendrile sighed in frustration.

_Probably,_ Alys thought, _he thinks that I'm being silly and irrational. _And normally she would agree, but this . . . this was different. In fact, she might go so far as to call it . . . supernatural. Her eyes widened and she glanced up sharply as a suspicion struck her.

"Selendrile, I know this. I mean, I'm _positive._ I'm not having abandonment issues, I'm not having doubts—in fact, there is no doubt in my mind. It's—I don't think it's natural. Could this be another fey thing?"

He blinked rapidly. Apparently the idea had never occurred to him. "You think you might have prescience?"

"Pre-what?" Alys was confused.

Selendrile sighed. "Foreknowledge; premonition. The ability not to _see_ what is to come, but to _know_. It's—" he paused looking thoughtfully at her. "Are you absolutely _certain _that I will be leaving?"

Alys nodded, still a little dazed. "Positive," she affirmed.

He seemed to hesitate, wearing an expression that she could quite interpret. Eventually, his voice carefully unrevealing, he asked, "Will I be back?"

"I don't know," she whispered miserably, wishing that she could be as casual about all this as Selendrile seemed to be. She thought, with an uncharacteristic bitterness brought on by fear, that he was probably relieved to know that he would finally be rid of his burden.

The dragon-youth started to run an agitated hand through his long hair, but stopped abruptly when he felt Alys' curious gaze on him. "I have some—errands to run," he said abruptly, turning and moving for the door. When his hand touched the doorknob Alys made a noise—a small gasp for the impending loss that already made her ache so much, so quiet that a normal human wouldn't have heard it—but Selendrile wasn't human. He turned and met her hazel eyes with his amethyst ones. "I _will_ be back," he said. And despite everything—despite her premonition— Alys could almost believe him.

He turned away, opened the door, and went out into the gloaming.

* * *

The bed was very comfortable—stuffed with something nicer than straw; much better than what Alys had become accustomed to. She should have fallen asleep easily in the quiet, dark room. But she lay sleepless, waiting for the telltale sound of footsteps or an opening door that would herald Selendrile's return. Thanks to her newly improved senses, she would know the minute he came back—if he came back. She wanted to believe that he would, but it was an effort when she knew that if it wasn't now, it would be later. _Tomorrow, before noon, _something inside of her whispered, and she shuddered.

_I __will__ be back,_ he'd said. He'd _promised. _But he'd also admitted from the start that he was a liar.

The sound of footsteps, measured and light, approached down the hall. Alys tensed.

They stopped in front of Selendrile's door; it creaked open, the person went inside, and it shut again. There was a weary sigh as someone lowered themselves onto the bed. Then, softly, "Goodnight, Alys."

She smiled, her eyes already drooping shut. "Goodnight."

* * *

_There was a tree: a great, silver tree spreading out under a sky of writhing gold. It was huge and ancient, leafless and ethereal, but full of so much life and vitality that it practically glowed. No, wait—it actually __was__ glowing, Alys realized. However, even as she watched, the furthest spread branches began to wither and die, making the blooming feeling of wonder in her chest vanish to be replaced with horror. Surely it couldn't die! She could feel the strength in its ancient core, its power condensed deep beneath the cracked and aged surface; surely that power was more than enough to save it?_

_But it was not to be. Larger and larger branches shriveled and went black, the glow of life leaving them, and soon the blight had reached the trunk. It . . . crumpled, collapsing to the ground in the black ashes of its own destruction. And Alys cried for the beauty that was lost. _

_**::Why are you crying?:: **__asked the golden sky, which rippled and moved like a living thing. __**::She is not gone.::**_

_It was only then, gasping and looking up to see what had spoken, that Alys realized that the sky wasn't golden after all: it was only filled with dragons. _

_Then one drop of shining gold separated from the rest and dove down. Alys waited for the dragon to slow and land, but it never did; instead, it crashed straight into the center of the blackened mess of cinders that was the Tree's graveyard. _

"_Why?" Alys cried plaintively, unable to understand why the dragon had given up its life so pointlessly. Had it been so full of despair at the death of the Tree that it could live no longer? "Now they are both gone!"_

_**::Not so,:: **__said the sky. __**::Look.::**_

_In the ashes of death, a sprig of living silver bloomed._

* * *

Morning dawned cloudy. The overcast sky outside the window was the first thing that Alys saw when she pried open heavy eyelids, still tired from her late night. Her body wanted to sleep longer—but her mind had already dismissed the thought of further rest in favor of focusing on the sounds coming from Selendrile's room: voices, one of them completely unfamiliar. As quietly as she could she pushed back the covers and rose to her feet, irritably brushing aside the small twinge of guilt she felt at eavesdropping. Still walking on eggshells, she began to ready herself for the day as she listened.

". . . that our Mahyt is dying, and I find you like _this_," the unknown voice, male, was hissing. Obviously the speaker was not pleased at all, and his ire seemed to be directed at Selendrile. "Finding you in a human settlement is suspicious enough, but you reek of one particular human. More than just a day or two could account for. What have you been doing, Selendrile?"

Alys was growing more and more concerned. The speaker was obviously not human, from the disdainful way he spoke of them, and was probably a dragon, considering his association with Selendrile. But what did he want with the dragon-youth?

_Before noon, _a small piece of her was insisting, and she sighed. The voice was right: she already knew, to a certain extent, what the stranger's visit would bring.

Selendrile gave a low, menacing growl that sent shivers running down Alys spine. "What species I choose to associate with is no concern of yours, _brother._ Go and tend to your own affairs, and I will attend to mine." The 'brother' was practically spat; plainly there was no love lost between these two, if Selendrile was actually showing his anger to this extent.

"On the contrary, it is _absolutely _my concern. Your shame is the family's shame," Selendrile's brother said. Alys was still trying to recover from the shock of discovering that he _had _a brother. Next she was going to find out that he actually had _parents,_ and hadn't crawled out from under a rock after all.

When Selendrile failed to reply, his brother continued angrily, "Explain yourself! Or can you? I hope for your sake that you have a good excuse: you know as well as I do that the Mahyt has no love for humanity, and the impending Changeover will doubtless have changed that not at all."

When the dragon-youth still didn't speak, Alys realized that he really _didn't _have a spur-of-the-moment excuse, and it sounded like he could be in trouble. He was going to need her to bail him out. The idea was so new and strange that Alys almost laughed at the thought of it, but she stifled the urge just in time. This was going to be a novel experience.

Nervously straightening her hair and smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her dress, Alys dredged up an image of Selendrile at his most superior and dragonish, then did her best to paste this expression onto her own face. With these preparations made, she left her own room, approached the door across from it, and waltzed into Selendrile's with as much confidence as possible. What met her was the sight of a Selendrile who looked like he might cringe if his legendary self-composure would allow it, and across from him, lounging casually on the rumpled bed, a man who bore a startling resemblance to him. Unsurprising, considering that they were apparently brothers.

This man's hair was shorter, cut very evenly at his shoulders, and a sandy blonde color; his eyes though, were disturbing: a rich maroon which reminded Alys unnervingly of blood. She supposed that it was hardly his fault, though: she was just predisposed to dislike him because of the way he'd been treating Selendrile. _He looks older, _she realized with some surprise. For some reason she'd pictured the dragon-youth with younger siblings, if any, and the other dragon's snide, immature tone had reinforced this impression. However, if he'd been human, she would have pegged him as at least twenty-five.

Keeping the hyperventilation internal, she tried to be graceful as she moved forward and grasped Selendrile's arm, treating him with a bright, confident smile that hid how nervous she was. Of course, it wasn't really meant for him, as he could see right through her (as always), but it should be sufficient to fool his brother. "Who's this, Selendrile? Do introduce me." Hazel eyes met amethyst; she watched him decide to trust her, and it made her feel inexplicably warm.

"Alys," he said, holding her gaze, "this is Faolán, my brother. Faolán, meet Alys."

She turned her smile to the foreign dragon. "Faolán," she murmured politely. "So lovely to meet you."

Rudely ignoring her, he instead said to Selendrile in a knowing tone of voice that she only found more irritating because of how it reminded her of his brother (just a lot more pompous), "Oh, _I _see now." He snorted. "She's certainly pretty enough, for a human at least. I hope you don't plan to mate with her; you know I can't allow that. Our—"

Alys let out a chuckle, interrupting Faolán's lecture. Both dragons turned to stare at her in amazement. Her smile was wide and amused. "Can you _imagine, _Selendrile? You led me to believe that your family was on the intelligent side, but _this,_ ha! He actually thinks that I'm human!" She shook her head and started laughing again, as though unable to help herself.

Selendrile's eyes suddenly kindled as he caught the gist of her plan, but his small smirk was wasted on the other dragon; Faolán's gaze was trained on Alys. "I don't see what you're trying to get at," he said coldly. "I am not mistaken: you _are _human." But there was just a trace of doubt in his voice; more than enough for Alys, who was accustomed to a far more difficult opponent, to build on.

Slowly and deliberately, she rolled up one sleeve, exposing her forearm. Then, as though to contrast, she suddenly slashed down one sharp fingernail to make a three-inch gash on the bare skin there, barely managing not to wince or cry out. As silver blood welled up from the wound she dropped all pretense of friendliness. "Does that look human to _you_?" Faolán, his eyes wide, didn't answer, and she said shortly, "I didn't think so. I have a fascination with humans, and sometimes, as now, I even live among them for short periods of time, but I have _never_ before been mistaken for one." She turned imperiously to Selendrile. "Finish up whatever business you have with your brother and then make him leave. I have no patience for fools."

With that parting shot (and still somewhat amazed at her own audacity), Alys turned and stalked out of the room.

* * *

When Alys returned to her room to wait for Selendrile she hadn't intended to fall asleep, but her weariness caught up to her, and when the dragon-youth entered several hours later she was fast asleep on the bed, still fully clothed. He smiled at the sight of her, coming forward to sit on the edge of the bed, but it was a sad smile.

"Alys," he prompted quietly, nudging her. "Time to wake up." An incoherent grumble was his reward. He sighed. "Alys . . . I'm leaving."

She shot upright. "Sele—What?" Despite himself, he found a smile tugging at his lips. For once, he didn't resist the impulse, and Alys, her eyes still bleary from sleep, stared. "I think I must still be dreaming," she mumbled. "You appear to be smiling."

"No, I'm not," he said, the smile vanishing as though it had never been.

She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked carefully at him. "Never mind," she sighed. Then she glanced up sharply, suddenly fearful again. "Did you say that you were leaving?"

All traces of amusement vanished from his features then, and he nodded. "Yes. Your premonition was right. Our Mahyt is soon to die, and a Changeover will take place someday very soon."

"Mahyt?" Alys wondered aloud. _Changeover?_ she thought, but Selendrile was already speaking.

"The Mahyt is the leader of a dragon clan . . . the matriarch, you might call her. My Clan is the Golden Dragon Clan (simple enough), and our Mahyt is very old. Since she's calling for a Changeover, she must be very near to death . . ." He paused, then said quietly, "She was a good leader."

Alys bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement, but there was still something that she didn't understand. "So . . . you have to attend the funeral, or something?"

He shook his head. "Not exactly . . . I am required to be there for the current Mahyt's death and the new one's—hmm, coronation. Our Mahyt is not fond of humans, and you would not be able to deceive her as you did him, otherwise I would take you with me—but you have to stay behind."

Alys' breath caught and her heart dropped to her stomach. She'd known that their separation was imminent, but still, hearing him say it out loud like that was surprisingly painful.

"When I was gone last night I retrieved some things from my hoard, so you will not be found wanting," Selendrile was saying. He left the room for a moment, and when he reappeared it was with a bulging leather sack in his hand, one that made a distinctive clinking noise when he set it on the floor next to her bed. Despite herself, Alys was wide-eyed: if it was from his hoard, then it was doubtlessly gold, and the _whole sack _was stuffed to the brim . . . She'd never seen so much money in once place in her life!

However, two words were all it took to shake her out of her money-induced haze: "Goodbye, Alys." Her head jerked up and one hand shot forward to do something—stop him? But it halted in midair, then dropped limply to her side. There was nothing that she could do, really, except watch him go. He was already halfway out the door when it hit her that she might never see him again.

"Wait!" she cried, a shamefully desperate, strangled sound.

He halted and turned slowly, his expression as inscrutable as she had ever seen it. "Alys?" he questioned.

Not giving herself the time to talk herself out of it, Alys stood up and ran to the dragon-youth, wrapping her arms around his middle and clinging to him for one glorious, selfish moment. When she reluctantly pulled away, he wore an odd expression—almost confused. And he was most likely only further confused when, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation, she framed his face with her hands and pulled him down for a slow, oh-so-careful kiss. Then she sighed, stepped away, and fixed him with a glare that might have been taken more seriously if her eyes hadn't been bright with tears.

"If you don't come back," she told him fiercely, "I'm never going to speak to you again."

The confused look in his eyes faded as he sighed at her. "What a brilliant deduction," he said sarcastically. In complete contrast to his words, though, he reached up and gently lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I _will _come back." She searched his eyes, but could find no guile there.

No more words were spoken. Selendrile released her, turned, and strode down the hall of The Laughing Loon, never looking back.

* * *

**AN: According to what I could find, Faol****á****n is pronounced **_**Fee-lahn**_**. Weird… Kind of cool, though. Don't forget to review before you go! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**


	6. Chapter 6: The Silver Tree

**Chapter 6:****  
The Silver Tree**

Selendrile flew steadily, forcing himself to neither linger and delay his arrival for that much longer, nor give in to his agitation and push himself so hard that he would arrive exhausted. Of course, even this pace was faster than he usually flew these days, since he had to be always conscious of his more fragile cargo. Alys wasn't built to withstand the altitude or wind pressure like he was. But he didn't have to worry about that at the moment, did he? She wasn't with him. He'd left her in Harperton, like she'd known all along that he would—and it felt _wrong,_ like leaving something priceless and delicate alone and unsheltered in a storm, where the wind could snatch it away or the rain could beat it down into the mud.

He hated to leave her like this. It had grown slowly, this attachment, this absolute _need _for her presence in order to feel any sort of contentment. He felt her absence like an ache of an old wound, or an itch that he couldn't scratch: ever present, impossible to ignore, and forever lying in wait for a moment of distraction to capture his attention. She occupied his every thought as though to compensate for her physical absence, and it sickened him how weak he was when it came to her—his will of iron bent far too easily if the pressure was exerted by her hand. Alys, his human who was no longer so, was the exception to his every rule.

He was too dependent on his connection to her. It grated on his pride, because however possessive he felt towards her, however much he thought of her as _his_—somewhere along the line he had become hers as well, and the thought of submitting to another's ownership—even Alys'—made him restless and somewhat angry. He tended to be solitary and independent (traits which were actually unusual for the average clan-oriented dragon); Alys was a violation of everything that he had built himself up to be, of his every pattern of thought and way of life. It was terribly strange—terribly unsettling . . . but he could accept that, because the other option was letting her go—and that was a prospect that he could not bring himself to face.

In an attempt to distract himself from a subject that was only making him more restless and discontented, he turned his thoughts to his destination: his home. Or did he still consider it that? He hadn't even been near the place for almost thirty years, which, though not terribly long if one considered a dragon's average lifespan, was a significant portion of Selendrile's life: he was still young, after all, and he'd been even younger when he left, so many of his formative years had been spent entirely separated from clan and family. Faolán looked older, though he hadn't matured much, and Selendrile's younger sister, Sashenka, would be nearly grown now. She'd only been in her twenties when he left. How strange . . . Alys was still in her teens. When Sashenka was only a child, she'd been older than Alys was now. Of course, sometimes it was made all too apparent that humans had a far shorter maturation process than dragons did, when Alys would do something impulsive or foolish and he would remember that comparatively speaking, she was still very young. He'd never really considered her a child, though . . .

His wing-beats faltered slightly, and he blinked in confusion. How in the world had he gotten around to thinking about Alys again? He spent a bizarre moment trying not to think about Alys or think about thinking about Alys, then realized the futility of said endeavor and cast about for another topic instead.

His mother: Ariana. She was soft spoken, inexplicably wise in the way that mothers often were, and she was the only one that Selendrile had felt understood, thought nonverbally, when he chose to leave. She loved his father with an intensity that Selendrile had rarely seen, despite all of the older dragon's flaws. And he did have flaws . . . Fastion returned Ariana's love with the same devotion that she had for him, but he didn't seem to have any affection left for anyone else. Not even his children. Often it seemed that Ariana was his medium to the world; his only contact within the realm of emotion. If the dark-eyed dragon felt strongly about anyone but her, then he certainly didn't show it. . . . Perhaps Ariana was the exception for Faolan, as Alys was for Selendrile. Still, the dragon-youth knew that if he ever had a child with Alys (and wasn't that thought a strange one!) he would not make the same mistakes that his father had. Alys surely would have no compunctions about letting him know when he was doing something wrong, while his mother had hesitated to do the same for Fastion . . . No, a child of his and Alys' would certainly be loved.

And there she was again. Was it impossible to escape her? He supposed that it wasn't really surprising, considering that she was the most important figure in his life—the only important figure in his life, recently. _Alright. New train of thought._

Faolan had been resentful of Selendrile's decision to strike out, but time didn't seem to have diminished his grudge; if anything, it had increased. He had grown from a sullen adolescent to a confused, bitter adult, who tried to cover up his insecurity with a snide attitude and biting tongue. _Or perhaps he's always been that way and I just never noticed before, _Selendrile speculated. He'd looked up to and admired his brother as a child, and as he grew older, lingering remnants of that may have blinded him to some of the red-eyed dragon's flaws. He could find no shred of respect for his brother within himself anymore: only some odd mixture of contempt, pity and that attachment which hadn't disappeared, despite time and disagreements. Faolán was still his brother, after all, no matter if he was also a cocky idiot.

The youngest member of their family, Sashenka, seemed to have been cast from a different mold from the rest of them. Perhaps when she grew older she would develop into a person more like their mother, Ariana, with her seemingly endless kindness and patience, but when Selendrile had seen her last she'd been only a dragonet. Cheerful, innocent, terribly proud of her developing wings and admittedly natural talent at shape-shifting, and eager to learn—unless the learning required bookwork, that is. She'd always been tightly wound, active and full of energy; when she was younger getting her to sleep had been a chore, and eventually a hollow-eyed, exhausted Ariana had dragged her reluctant younger son into getting his baby sister relaxed enough to sleep. Despite the time lapse, he apparently hadn't lost his touch, as sending Alys to sleep had been easy enough . . . though her already being exhausted had undoubtedly played a part. Even if she hadn't already admitted as much, her fatigue had been plain to see if one bothered to look—she was terrible at maintaining her composure, another sign of her obvious youth, despite the deceptive maturity that she showed at times.

At first he'd seen her as just one more human among thousands—common; unremarkable; dust in the wind. Here one moment, gone the next, and unworthy of more than a moment's consideration. Her boldness—her stubbornness—was what had first captured his attention. After all, what sort of human had the guts to throw rocks at a _dragon _and demand that he come down and eat her—especially when that human had no means of escape or defense? The usual reaction to the sight of him (at least with the females) was to shriek and try to flee—or, in a few amusing instances, faint dead away. Even the relatively tough ones were intimidated by something of _that_ size with _those _teeth and claws—but Alys, other than some initial gaping, had had the courage (bravado, anyway) to confront him, who to her must have seemed the very incarnation of her death; to call him down to meet her on her own terms. He'd never eaten the maidens that humans tried to 'appease' him with, if only to spite the stupid, selfish worms, but to his own surprise, he had actually found Alys entertaining enough to keep around. For the first time, he had found value—however small and insignificant—in a human. Before Alys, his association with them had been on a strictly 'if-you-attack-me-I-eat-you' basis. They were so short-lived, so insignificant and ephemeral to his eyes, but Alys had been different: an exception from the very start. Her frankness, her emotional nature (so foreign after his long, self-imposed isolation), her passion for the revenge she dedicated herself to, and, above all, the bizarre, unpredictable way she reacted to things (provoking a dragon, then agreeing to _ally _with him, of all things—then actually seeming to grow fond of him, even knowing what he was?) all contributed to the dragon-youth's uncharacteristic interest. Despite all of that, however, he had continued to assume that Alys would remain nothing more than an experiment of sorts, something to be observed until it no longer interested him and then be discarded. He'd never considered the possibility that he would grow attached until it was already too late, and the human that should have been nothing more than a temporary amusement had become what he cared for most.

Perhaps it had been selfish of him to steal Alys away from her own kind and keep her for himself. It _had _been selfish, really—the life that she lived now was no kind of existence for a human. She could have had so much more that what he could provide her—marriage, children; relationships with people _other _than a single creature of a different species. However much he wanted to, those were not things that he could give her. But . . . perhaps they were not out of her reach quite yet. After all, she was still physically human (apart from her blood), and he'd heard the longing in her voice when she spoke of her 'Tad'. Perhaps he could let her go, though the very thought sent a slow, seeping dread through his veins and a pang of loss in his heart. Perhaps he could bear the pain of being without her if he knew that she would be happy.

Wrenching himself from his increasingly maudlin thoughts, Selendrile glanced down at the countryside that, beneath him, was rapidly transitioning from rich, fertile greenery to endless snow-covered pines. He'd been flying throughout the day and for most of the night; his destination was near.

* * *

The dark, gaping crevasse stood out clearly against the moonlit snow, appearing to be nothing more than just another bat cave. No human who happened to stumble upon it would ever guess what was hidden in the ebony depths (not that there were any humans who lived near enough to just _happen_ to stumble across it anyway). The unforgiving north wind howled, and snow swirled and danced closer to the surface, but Selendrile, still so high above the earth that the yawning cave entrance seemed rather small, knew that within it would be still and calm; sheltered from the elements. He folded his wings and plummeted downward, barreling determinedly through the stubborn wind that tore at him, trying to steer him off course, and the entrance grew larger and larger in his sights until he passed the rim and was suddenly enveloped in darkness and silence.

Pale light still trickled down, and the wind could still be faintly heard raging outside, but both of these things grew fainter and fainter as Selendrile descended, then vanished almost entirely when he took a sudden, sharp turn into an offshoot tunnel, one which was nearly impossible to spot unless one already knew it was there—which, obviously, he did. He'd grown up here, after all, and though time had passed, he still knew these tunnels like the back of his talon. The complete, eclipsing blackness was somewhat disconcerting, but he found his way unerringly through the dark, never even so much as clipping the sides of the tunnel with his wings. For several minutes this pattern continued, with zero visibility and so sound but the gentle whoosh of wing-beats, but then two things occurred simultaneously: Selendrile turned a corner and saw a faint, reflected glimmer of light in the distance, and a low buzzing became present at the back of his mind as he came within range for mental communication. Now, if he so wished, he could contact the dragons that dwelled within—but he remained silent, mentally and verbally.

As the dragon-youth rounded the last corner, bright light burst over him, and he squinted eyes still sensitive from the long period of darkness. He slowed slightly, but not much—flying blind, as he had demonstrated earlier, was no problem for him in this place. Once his eyes had adjusted to the illumination he took in the sight before him, his emotions shifting between nostalgia and a long-dormant sense of awe: he remembered this place vividly—it wasn't something that was easy to forget—but all the memories in the world were no match for the real thing.

Before him was an enormous cavern, stretching for miles and miles in any direction. In the center of this, the source of all the light resided: a tree, radiating silver light bright enough to reach the furthest reaches of the cave, and so tall that it began at the floor far below and stretched up to the very highest reaches, its broad, leafless branches spreading across the ceiling to support it from beneath. Some of the stone surrounding the tree glowed in a similar manner, as though, in such close proximity to the tree, it had absorbed so much light and magic over thousands of years that it could no longer contain it all. The exact origins of The Silver Tree had been lost to time, but it was what the Golden Dragon clan based their lives around; it was what chose their Mahyt and gave her power; it was what bound them together as a clan, locking them together in one central location as no other dragon clan seemed to be capable of. The species was nomadic, generally speaking, but the golden dragons stayed here—for the Tree. The stone surrounding it was hollowed and smoothed, worn down by the generations of dragons that had used the area as a meeting place (for Changeovers, among other things).

Once, a clan meeting might have filled the cavern—now, though, the golden dragons numbered barely in the hundreds, and most of the tunnel dwellings that riddled the walls of the main cavern were empty and abandoned. Some of Selendrile's wonder vanished as he recalled this, and he was left feeling a curiously hollow sensation that might have been sadness, or regret. He'd known when he left that his clan was slowly dying, but seeing it again with his own eyes was like a slap in the face. The cavern was quieter than it should have been, with that damp, mossy scent that he knew the less-inhabited caves usually had. _Worse than before, _he realized grimly, and wondered with something like guilt whether more dragons had been lost to death or to abandonment. He'd left, after all, his restless, independent spirit unable to bear the stagnancy of the clan or the (what he saw as) stifling presence of his family.

His gaze, roaming aimlessly over the walls as he lazily hovered in the air, halted when it reached one cave entrance which, on the surface, seemed no different from the rest. If one paid close attention, however, it might be noticed that the claw marks on the lip of the opening were fresher and more plentiful than on most of the others, and if one concentrated, the faint buzzing of a living presence dwelled within: Selendrile's family. With some trepidation (though he would never admit to it), the dragon-youth made for his childhood home, and soon he had reached the opening—which, he realized with some confusion, had somehow shrunk. Then he did a mental reboot and growled under his breath. _Idiot, _he berated himself, annoyed at his own stupidity. _You've grown._ It was inevitable, he supposed: he'd still been going through puberty when he left, so naturally he'd been nowhere near the size he was now. Despite this fact, the tunnel was still plenty large enough for him to fly through, though a dragon as large as his father would be forced to land and walk the rest of the way (or transfigure themselves into something smaller, such as a bird).

The living room was occupied, which wasn't entirely surprising in and of itself. What w_as _surprising was that all four of the other members of his family were in it, and when he flew in he was met by four sets of eyes, all staring shamelessly. Amethyst orbs scanned over black, lavender, maroon, and blue-violet ones as Selendrile gently touched ground, and he wondered in a curiously detached way whether any of the tumult going on inside of him showed on his face.

_::Hello,:: _he said. His mind-voice was rather steady, so he decided that it was safe to assume that his facial expression hadn't betrayed him either.

A long moment of silence passed as no one responded, opting to stare instead, until—predictably—the ice was broken by Sashenka. Her mouth, which had been hanging open up until that point, clicked shut abruptly, and her eyes lost some of their shocked appearance to be replaced with delight. _::Selendrile!:: _she shrieked, and that was all the warning the addressed dragon-youth had before he found himself being tackled by a speeding golden ball of energy. Luckily he had time to brace himself; otherwise her charge would have ended with them both in a tangled heap on the floor (she was a lot bigger than she'd been last time he saw her). As it was, she had no sooner pressed her nose happily into his shoulder than she was spinning away from him again, leaping into the air as though gravity was not enough to contain her enthusiasm and launching into a series of aerial maneuvers that both showed off her impressive dexterity and expressed her happiness that Selendrile was back.

_::Sashenka,:: _he greeted fondly, sparing a glance for his cold-eyed father and reminding himself again why he _didn't _want to be like that. _::I was afraid that you wouldn't remember me,:: _he admitted, looking down at her as she finally landed.

Her cheerful expression slipped a bit. _::Yeah,:: _she said softly. _::You were gone for a while, weren't you?::_ But then she seemed to brighten again, her eyes gaining a mischievous glint. _::But how could I forget __**you**__? You're one of my favorite brothers!::_

Selendrile blinked, wondering if he should bother feeling insulted. _::You only have two brothers,:: _he pointed out dryly.

She tilted her head to the side in mock confusion. _::So?::_

_Brat, _he thought affectionately, but kept the sentiment internal, instead shaking his head and turning to the remainder of his family. _::Mother, Father,:: _he said respectfully, then allowed a hint of amusement to seep into his voice as he named the only one left, _::Faolán.::_ After all, it was practically his brotherly duty to remind the other dragon of what he would see as his _faux pas _with Alys (implying that she was a human—though, in actuality, she kind of _was_. But Faolán didn't know that). Faolán started to narrow his eyes, then seemed to decide that rising to the bait was beneath his dignity, sniffed, and looked away.

_::It has been far too long. We are so happy to have you finally back, Selendrile,:: _Ariana said softly, her eyes shining brightly with unshed tears and leaving no doubt of her sincerity. _::Right, Fastion?:: _she looked hopefully at her life-mate, and he paused, eyed her expression, then seemed to resign himself to playing along.

_::Of course. Welcome home, Selendrile,:: _he said, but there was no welcome at all in his voice. Its blatant insincerity was a stark contrast to Ariana's warmth, and he only showed slight signs of remorse when she actually flinched, avoiding his gaze in favor of turning a suddenly strained smile on her youngest son.

_::So,:: _she said with exaggerated cheer, trying to distract from the tension in the air,_ ::Faolán tells us that you have found a life mate! What is she like? When will we get to meet her?:: _

Selendrile didn't try to hide his surprised expression. Faolán had thought that Alys was his _life mate? _Or had he just told that to their parents in an attempt to cause trouble? Who knew. Recalling that Ariana still awaited his response, he assured her, _::I'm afraid he was mistaken. I was with a friend when he contacted me, and he must have misinterpreted our relationship.::_

_::Oh,:: _said Ariana disappointedly, shooting her older son a vaguely exasperated glance.

Before anyone else could speak, though, Sashenka came in with a curious question of, _::What's her name?::_

Selendrile blinked. _::You mean Alys?::_

_::Is she the friend?:: _she asked. He nodded. _::Then yes.:: _Expression mischievous, she added, _::So, what's she like? When will we get to meet her?:: _

The dragon-youth sighed, vaguely annoyed, as he was laughed at by his younger sister, Ariana's quiet chuckle joining in a moment later. It didn't take long for the latter to have pity on him, however, her motherly instincts going full force.

_::You must be exhausted,:: _she said sympathetically. _::You've had a long journey; you had to have flown nearly nonstop to get here so soon. I've cleaned up your old chambers; why don't you get some rest?:: _

Selendrile nodded, grateful for the reprieve, and complied.

* * *

**AN: Okay, you guys need to let me know: does this chapter need to be rewritten **_**again, **_**or did I do alright? It's **_**hard **_**to get inside Selendrile's head, you have no idea… Hm. Anyway, please don't forget to review before you go! C: I really need feedback on this one.**

**~Killer Zebra**


	7. Chapter 7: Something Silver

**Thanks, DivisionHead, for reminding me that I had an in-progress rewrite waiting for me to come back and finish it. **

**C****hapter 7:****  
Something Silver**

_The library that Alys found herself in seemed gargantuan to her wide-eyed gaze. To be fair, she'd never actually __seen__ a library before this point, so her judgment may have been off. Shelves were scattered about haphazardly, creating a labyrinth of random passages and dead ends. As if this wasn't strange enough, the ceiling and walls radiated an unearthly silver luminescence, creating the illusion that the whole room was bathed in moonlight. It was entirely unlike any place she'd ever seen, and she couldn't imagine how on earth her subconscious mind had conjured it up. _

_An attempt to see beyond her current limited perspective was stymied when Alys realized that she couldn't move—she was stuck where in place as though glued there, though, come to think of it, she didn't actually appear to have a corporeal form to move about with anyway—like she was there only in spirit. _

_She was pondering whether it was the appropriate time to become very frustrated or rather frightened when she heard a voice: _

"_I am afraid, Dastar."_

_A woman was speaking, though Alys couldn't discern where from. Sound echoed strangely through the dusty corridors of books, making it impossible to judge where the voice originated from. _

"_Are you?" a male voice, this time—sounding genuinely curious as to the answer to his question. "Why?" _

_A sigh. "Trust you to have to ask that. It's . . . Well, I suppose that I'm afraid of what I will become. I won't be just Liadan anymore . . . I will be the Mahyt. What if . . . what if I lose who I am? You know, I don't even know my own grandmother's name. Even when I was a child I never addressed her as anything other than Mahyt—as though she were nothing more than a title, with no personality underneath. Will I . . . become like that, after the Changeover?"_

_Alys could only listen in growing confusion as the second voice snorted indignantly. "Well. That's a terribly silly thing to be worried about. If you weren't you, then you wouldn't be you, would you? If you are the Mahyt, then you shall be the Mahyt. If the Mahyt is not you, then you will not be the Mahyt. What is there to fear?"_

_A pause—then a quiet huff of amusement. "You know . . . that's not comforting at all."_

"_I was supposed to be comforting you?" He sounded utterly confused—_

—And Alys woke to the fading echoes of incredulous laughter.

* * *

"Are you sure you're alright?" inquired Drusilla in an undertone as she passed by Alys table, absently passing a cleaning cloth over the smooth wooden surface.

Alys nodded automatically, hardly listening anymore. "Of course," she assured her host.

It wasn't the first time the question had been asked. It wasn't even the third. To be honest, Alys had stopped keeping track after the count had reached past _one._ One would think that Drusilla would get the idea, after awhile, that Alys' replies weren't going to adjust their content with repetition. Of course, one would also think that after awhile, Alys would get the idea that staring broodily at her bowl of stew, stirring it around and sighing unhappily at regular intervals, wasn't going to make her responses more believable.

To be fair, her conscious mind was occupied with other things. Like the hint of spice in the stew, which burned faintly at the back of her mouth, or the mysterious tapping noise that seemed to be coming from the kitchen. Important things. Certainly not small, insignificant nothings like dragons and magical bonds and foreknowledge and the possibility of never seeing the person she loved again.

No. Nothing like that.

_Tap-tap-pop!-tap-tap-tap-pop!-tap _. . .

To Alys' ears, the repetitive sound was loud and irritating, but she knew that in all likelihood she was the only one who could pick up the noise at all from all the way out in the dining room. Her recent 'enhancements' made sure of that. She was surrounded by humans—ordinary, unassuming, unsuspecting humanity—but she was no longer one of them . . . thanks to Selendrile. Really, she thought irritably, everything was his fault. Even the annoying noise in the kitchen. After all, if it weren't for his influence she would never have come in to possession of her heightened senses; if she were still human, the sound would have never registered. Therefore, it was completely logical to blame the dragon-youth. It was his fey magic, after all, that had made her into what she had become.

. . . Whatever that was.

She frowned down at her bowl of stew, wishing that it was something that would be more satisfying to bite viciously into. As it was, she could only sigh and swallow another spoonful.

She glanced up as she heard the distinctive clunk of Drusilla's wooden clogs. The older woman was coming back in her direction, but this time she was accompanied. The man trailing behind her was short—of a height with Drusilla, who wasn't a tall woman. Where her hair was a pale auburn, this man possessed a soft green cap, concealing his bald spot, and bushy red sideburns. A round potbelly and bright green jacket, matching his hat, completed the picture. Alys could only eye him curiously and wonder if there was a leprechaun somewhere in his ancestry. Then the two stopped at her table and she ducked her head abruptly, realizing that she'd been rudely staring. Neither of them seemed to take offense, however.

"Alright, Julie?" Drusilla asked once more, but this time she didn't wait for a response before going on: "Never mind. Have you met my cousin?" At Alys' quiet denial, the plump woman smiled. "Well, then! This is Diggory Longfellow, my cousin; he's here visiting. Diggory, this is Julie . . ." she hesitated for a moment, perhaps realizing that Selendrile hadn't actually provided a last name, then continued a bit more slowly, ". . . Well, she's staying here with us while her brother is away. She misses him terribly, though, the poor dear." She offered a comforting pat on the shoulder while Mr. Longfellow nodded sympathetically, his dimpled smile morphing into an expression of sympathy.

Alys' polite smile grew a bit strained. Had it really been necessary for Drusilla to share that little tidbit? Was it really any of this Diggory fellow's business whether she was blissfully happy or wallowing in abject misery? She didn't even know him!

Then Drusilla suggested, her voice hopeful, "Why don't you two chat for a bit?" and Alys understood. Either the redheaded woman was trying to set them up (unlikely—she didn't really strike Alys as the type), or she just thought that Alys could do with a sympathetic ear, and since she hadn't seemed willing to confide in Drusilla, the woman had sought other options.

"Um—" Alys began awkwardly, not wishing to be trapped into polite niceties with a near-stranger, "—actually, I was just about to head out for a walk."

Drusilla opened her mouth to speak.

"Alone," said Alys.

Drusilla closed her mouth, frowning slightly. "Well—alright, then. It might be good for you to get out for a bit. It's getting late, though," she warned. "Make sure you're back before it gets dark."

"I will," Alys murmured reassuringly, already rising to her feet and leaving her half-eaten bowl of stew on the table. "It was nice to meet you," she added to Diggory as an afterthought.

Moments later she was out the door, on her way to no place in particular.

The street looked drab and gray to Alys' uninterested eyes. Winter sunlight filtered down through thick clouds, giving everything a cold, somber appearance. The town was completely unremarkable; virtually identical to countless others that she and Selendrile had flown over or passed through, but the events that had transpired here marked the place as different; significant. Harperton would always remain in her memory as the place where she had first discovered her prescience . . . and where Selendrile had left her.

* * *

Not long after Alys was out of view, a short man in a green suit peered out of _The Laughing Loon. _When the coast appeared to be clear, he cautiously made his way down the steps and across the street, approaching a tall, worried-looking man in a suit who loitered in the alley there.

"She's the one?" the other queried under his breath, glancing nervously out at the empty street.

"She's the one," confirmed the man in green. "She's perfect. No one knows her; she's all alone. Besides, people are always all too ready to suspect the pretty ones."

The taller man nodded, but still looked a little uncertain. "Are you . . . Are you _sure _that going through with this is the best plan? I mean, petty thieving is one thing—but this is _murder _we're talking about, for pity's sake! What if we get caught?"

"_Keep your voice down,_"the short man hissed, glaring at his compatriot. "If you're not careful, we'll be caught before we've even done anything!" He narrowed his eyes. "You know as well as I do that this is necessary. I couldn't pay off this debt I owe in _two _lifetimes—and you're just as bad off. Remember, half of whatever I inherit goes to you for your assistance in this matter."

The other man's worried frown only deepened, but he nodded in resignation. "I still don't like it . . . but you're right," he conceded. "Tomorrow, then."

* * *

That night Alys cocooned herself in blankets and curled into a tight ball, feeling achingly lonely and inexplicably cold at the constant reminder that hers was the only breathing echoing through the small inn room.

* * *

_Alys dreamt of silver. Floods of it—great, rushing torrents: a river. Or was it a tree, the branches full to bursting with flowing vitality? She was swept up in the current, pulled along in the wild cascade of movement, tumbling down the branches and tributaries until she reached the very edge, the very tip of a branch, where the river-turned-stream trickled to a stop. She lingered there, almost ready to make the leap; almost ready to fall, like a dewdrop slides languidly from the edge of a leaf. Then she slipped over the brink, and she was falling, falling into a sea of molten silver . . ._

* * *

When Alys woke her heart was racing and there was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. The silver blood pumped frantically in her veins as though barely contained by the delicate veneer of skin, and she took deep, harsh breaths, trying to soothe the wild energy that the dream had brought; trying to calm herself down. It didn't really work. This dream had been . . . Peculiar. More so than usual, even.

She rolled over onto her stomach and reached up one arm to nudge the curtain away from the window above her bed, noting that it was just before dawn; the grey eastern skyline grew brighter even as she watched. Groaning, she began to rise, realizing that there was no way she was getting back to sleep at this point—but was struck suddenly with a jolt of extreme pain, accompanied by nausea; she barely managed to refrain from throwing up, gasping and collapsing back onto the mattress. She could only wonder frantically what was wrong with her, unable to muster up even the strength to call out for help. Instead, she lay there helplessly, writhing in pain and drenched in her own sweat as the eastern sky grew brighter, the agony in her abdomen growing in intensity with every moment that passed.

Then the sun finally crested the hilltops—and brought with it blessed oblivion.

* * *

"Poor girl . . . Her brother leaves and her body chooses _now _to become ill. Wouldn't be surprised at all to learn that it was stress that brought it on . . ."

Alys opened her eyes to a blurry round figure beside her bed, muttering to itself. When she blinked, the pale blob solidified into Drusilla.

". . . Mrs. Hampton?" she murmured in confusion, noting the bright sunlight outside of the window and wondering why on earth she was still in bed at this hour. "What's going on?"

The addressed woman turned to face her immediately. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You're awake! I was so worried when you couldn't seem to wake up no matter what I did, but you didn't have a fever or anything, so I didn't—Oh, wait, I'm sorry. You must be awfully confused, mustn't you?"

Alys' expression confirmed this.

"Ah." Drusilla seemed to settle down a bit. "Well, early this morning, around dawn, I heard this awful scream coming from your room. Of course I came right up, fast as I could, thinking that something terrible must have happened, but when I got here you were just lying here next to the bed, all mussed up like you'd been tossing about. So, next I thought that maybe you'd had a nightmare—but I couldn't wake you for anything. You've been out cold for these—" she glanced out the window, "—close to four hours. I was about to go fetch a healer when you woke up. How are you feeling? Do you have any idea what happened?"

As Drusilla was speaking Alys' memory of the morning trickled back to her: the inundation of silver and then agony, agony—always increasing; growing past the limit of her endurance. She shuddered involuntarily and looked back up at Mrs. Hampton, her mouth opening to speak—but something halted the words in her throat. "I'm fine," she replied instead. "I don't remember what happened, but you're probably right—it must have been just a terrible nightmare."

It wasn't a very good excuse, and didn't explain the long hours of unconsciousness, but Drusilla's worried expression faded slightly. "Alright, I won't make you see a healer," she agreed, "but make sure to take it easy for the rest of the day, just in case. If you feel even the least bit poorly make sure to come to me straight away, alright?"

Alys nodded. "I will."

* * *

_. . . 203 . . . 204 . . . 205 . . . 206 . . . Okay, this isn't working. I don't even like sheep._

Alys sat up from her bed with a sigh, wondering doubtfully if pacing back and forth across her room would be—even marginally—less boring than laying prone on her bed, counting sheep in a futile attempt to coax her reluctant body into falling asleep. A great deal of the problem, she suspected, lay with the fact that she wasn't yet tired in the slightest: used to an active life, first helping her father in his tin shop in St. Toby's and then, later, traveling through the rough, untamed wilderness with Selendrile, the newly-minted fey found herself restless at Mrs. Hampton's insistence that she take it easy and rest after her 'difficult morning'. Feeling dreadfully out of place, she'd even offered to assist in the kitchen—but Drusilla wouldn't hear of it. The plump woman was still a bit spooked from the incident that morning, though the day had passed them by with nothing else untoward occurring.

_I suppose I could take another walk, _Alys considered. It did sound better than the alternative (staying there and doing nothing), and Drusilla, however much she might want to, couldn't actually _stop _Alys from leaving the inn to get some exercise. Alys had developed the habit of going out periodically, whenever the edgy, impatient feeling became too much to allow her to hold still any longer. She never went too far: with her luck, if she was gone too long Mrs. Hampton would panic and send out search parties or something. Her usual pattern involved exiting the front door of the inn, turning right, and walking down the cold, muddy street until she reached Harperton's outskirts—right by a shop dubbed _The Tinker's._ From there she would make her way back to the inn, usually using the alleys behind the shops, this time, rather than the main street. It got monotonous after awhile, but it beat pacing her room hands down.

She tugged a warm woolen shawl around her shoulders (it was getting more and more chilly outside as winter set in), quickly made her way down the stairs, and called out to Drusilla on her way out the door, not wanting the paranoid woman to worry—or send out the aforementioned search parties. "I'm going for another walk, Mrs. Hampton! Be back soon!"

Drusilla poked her head around the kitchen doorframe, looking slightly disapproving, but resigned. "Alright, Julie. If you happen to spot Mrs. Hampton, tell him to hurry along home, will you? He's been gone for hours!" The head vanished back into the kitchen, but Alys' keen ears could still pick up on the sound of her voice as she muttered uncomplimentary things about her husband under her breath.

And Alys meandered. She drifted along the sparsely populated street, hardly watching the path her feet took in favor of peering through windows and down alleyways, watching the world around her. A filthy but grinning child made mud pies at the edge of the road while his (or her—with the amount of mud, it was impossible to tell) mother looked on, her expression mildly disapproving of her offspring's choice of entertainment. Inside a stable a large man berated a younger one, perhaps his son, who cringed and made excuses for whatever offense he had committed. By the time Alys had reached _The Tinker's, _her mood was lest restless and more . . . wistful; sort of wondering. These people who surrounded her were human in a way that she would never again be. But the bitterness and regret she expected to accompany the thought never came.

She couldn't regret Selendrile. Even—no, _especially_—if it turned out that the time they had already spent together was all there would be. Honestly, she had no clue: her new ability was frustratingly silent on the subject. She would survive if he never returned—she would make her way slowly forward, forging a path through life without him by her side—but somehow she couldn't shake the conviction that, without him, she would never again feel truly whole.

Alys' body automatically navigated the shadowed alleys behind the shops while her mind was occupied. If she had been paying closer attention, perhaps she would have noticed the body which lay slumped across the alley in front of her before she literally stumbled across it.

"What the—?" she exclaimed as she leapt back, startled out of her contemplations. Then a frown tugged down at the corners of her mouth; someone collapsed from drunkenness this early in the day? With a huff, she gripped the man's shoulder and tugged at it, turning him until his face was visible—then gasped aloud.

Mr. Hampton's pale features met her shocked gaze; a dark, wet stain soaked his shirt over his belly, where the handle of a knife protruded. But—her finger's darted to his neck, and a faint pulse fluttered there still. His heart still beat; he still lived.

"Help! Somebody help! Somebody get a healer!"

It was all she could do—and she felt so _helpless, _knowing with a single glance at the wound that it couldn't be nearly enough. Perhaps it was a good sign that he'd survived as long as he had (who knew how long he'd been like this before she found him), but internal injuries of this sort were notorious for the slow, lingering deaths they caused, and he'd already lost so much blood . . .

A face appeared around the corner, responding to her cries, and the owner of said face, realizing the situation at a glance, turned immediately and ran to fetch help. Alys sank to her knees, staring at the innkeeper's pale, horse-like face. If she listened closely, she could hear his shallow breathing.

"Please don't die," she whispered. "Drusilla doesn't deserve that. I don't know you, but I know that she still needs you. Please . . ."

And— she knew suddenly that she had the ability to save him. Or, more specifically—her blood did. She remembered a dream—it seemed so long ago . . .

She ignored the yells; the pounding of running feet as people got wind of what was going on and hurried in hopes of either helping or witnessing a spectacle. She blocked out every outside distraction—everything but the fact that if she did nothing now, the man in front of her would die. Trembling hands grasped the dagger's handle and drew the slick, bloody metal out of the man's stomach, then cast the item aside with disgust. One sharp fingernail came down on her forearm, causing silver blood to swell—and Alys realized belatedly that there wasn't even a scar left to denote that she had performed a similar action merely days before.

Lifting Mr. Hampton's head, she held her bleeding arm to his lips. "Drink," she told him quietly. "Drink. Live."

For a long, breathless moment, nothing happened. (She distantly registered a shouted query of, "What's she doing?" but this was ignored as she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the face in front of her. This was quite literally a matter of life and death.) Then Mr. Hampton's Adam's apple bobbed in a swallowing motion—again, and again as he gulped greedily the life-giving liquid, but the moment his eyes opened Alys pulled her arm back and looked away, feeling faintly nauseous. At the same moment she suddenly became aware again of what was happening around her—and that she had an audience of two: the man she had seen earlier, in the stable, and the young man—just a boy, really—that he'd been shouting at. They stared at her with wide eyes, though those of the older were quickly narrowing.

Just then, more people rounded the corner and came into view.

"There she is!" cried Diggory shrilly, pointing. "Caught red-handed! Look, she's killed my cousin's husband! _Murdured _him!"

Alys leapt to her feet, too stunned at the accusation to notice Mr. Hampton's pained grunt when his head smacked the ground. "I didn't kill him!" she protested vehemently. "I never harmed him, but I _can't _have killed him! He's alive!" One arm gestured frantically to the prone—but now conscious—innkeeper.

Diggory stopped in his tracks. "What? That is—I mean, how is that possible? It's plain as day that he's been gutted!" he argued, indicating the knife, which was still red with slowly-drying blood.

But before Alys could reply, someone else did: the man from the stable, trembling with fear or anger—she couldn't have ventured a guess as to which. "She did it! She's a witch, see? She fed him her witch-blood—who knows what else it's done to him! Look at her arm; look at her blood! It's silver!" Mr. Hampton's eyes widened at the words; he wiped his lips unobtrusively.

When Alys took stock of the ten-odd people now crowding the alleyway, she was met with only hostile faces. The only exceptions were Mr. Hampton, who still seemed to be more shocked than anything, and the stable-boy—who was alternating his gaze between his older companion and Mr. Hampton, looking torn. After all, hadn't he just seen the 'witch' save Mr. Hampton's life?

Alys, of course, knew the routine. It had happened to her before, after all. The only difference was that this time she actually _had _done something supernatural—albeit it still hadn't hurt anyone, and had, in fact, saved a man's life. But she knew from experience that it would make no difference to her accusers, who were blinded by fear (and, she suspected, looking suspiciously at Diggory, greed). She knew this story—it ended with a witch burning at the stake. Only this time there would be no dragon flying in to save her.

* * *

**AN: Cliffhanger! :D . . . Ahem. Anyway, don't forget to review before you go! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**


	8. Chapter 8: Blood Always Tells

**Chapter 8:****  
Blood Always Tells**

Morning came peacefully, with no undue fuss. Selendrile, who was accustomed to waking up to the quiet but undeniably present sound of Alys' sleeping breaths, frowned inwardly at the lack of the familiar background noise as his eyes opened. Then he blinked in surprise, finding a pair of narrowed maroon eyes hovering _far _too closely over his own.

_::Faolán,::_ he greeted, outwardly unperturbed. The other dragon's eyes only narrowed further. Many possible responses to the situation crossed Selendrile's mind, but he had only just woken up, Alys wasn't there, his annoying older brother _was,_ and consequently Selendrile wasn't in the best of moods: he found an automatic, somewhat irritated response slipping out before he could stop it: _::Why are you here?::_

Finally reacting, Faolán snorted and backed away a bit, allowing Selendrile to get to his feet, stretching. _::We need to talk.::_

Selendrile's initial impulse was to raise an eyebrow, but then he remembered with some bemusement that in this form, he didn't actually have any. He settled for dryly asking, _::Oh? About what?::_

_::Your . . .:: _an expression of vague discomfort crossed Faolán's face, and he sounded almost distasteful as he finished, _::. . . friend.::_

_::What about her?:: _Selendrile asked patiently, then wondered belatedly if he had been wrong to assume that his brother had been referring to Alys. But then—how many 'friends' did he actually _have?_ There was Dastar, he supposed, but the age gap there had ensured that Selendrile considered the eccentric but affable dragon as more of a beloved uncle than a friend.

_::You said that she wasn't your life-mate,::_ Faolán explained, appearing both annoyed and smug— an odd combination, but he managed. _::But I saw the way you looked at her. We may not have been the closest of siblings, but I_ _know_ _you, Selendrile. I can read you— and no matter what you claim, you don't think of the girl as only a 'friend'.::_

Selendrile met his brother's gaze, only barely suppressing the urge to growl. It was true, of course— but he disliked the fact that he could be so easily read (brother or not) even more than he disliked the idea of Faolán having this information to hold over his head. He didn't doubt that the older dragon would find a way to use it against him.

When the dragon-youth didn't respond, Faolán looked sidelong at him, expression sly. _::I suppose it must have been one-sided,::_ he commented casually, his eyes glinting with scarcely hidden enjoyment._::Did poor li'l Driley get jilted?::_

Selendrile could have been defensive; he could have been pained at the reminder that his feelings were unrequited, or angry that Faolán was trying to use Alys against him like that. Instead, examining him with narrowed amethyst eyes, he decided to be relieved that his brother's intentions were so transparent. When it came down to it, Faolán was horribly predictable.

_::She made it clear from the start that we would never be anything other than friends,::_ he said, his tone unrevealing. _::I respect that.::_

Either Faolán was extremely bad at hiding his emotions, or he just didn't care; finally showing his amusement at Selendrile's ignominy, he let loose a unrestrained, delighted chuckle, and Selendrile was once again reminded of the older dragon's immaturity— he was like a child, carelessly cruel and seemingly unmindful of the consequences.

_::Do_ _not_ _mock me.::_ Selendrile allowed a hint of anger to seep into his voice— just enough to serve as a warning.

Faolán, though, appeared unfazed, only smirking. _::Oh, I'm sorry, brother,::_ he said, oozing sincerity. _::I didn't mean to appear as though I were mocking you.::_ Selendrile allowed himself a snort at that, and Faolán laughed again before changing the subject. _::What kind of fey is she exactly? The girl?::_

The dragon-youth had anticipated this question and was ready with an answer. _::An ordinary shapechanger,::_ he replied smoothly. Shapechangers— who were most definitely fey, though (in Selendrile's most certainly unbiased opinion) of a weaker breed than dragons— were fairly common in the warmer southern climates, and it was widely known that they often amused themselves by observing and mingling with the creatures whose form they chose to take, so it was practically tailor-made to fit Alys' invented-on-the-spot story.

Faolán paused— perhaps considering whether or not these words could possibly merit a scathing retort— but eventually just nodded in acknowledgement. _::She certainly is arrogant, for a mere shapechanger,::_was his only comment as he exited the chamber.

Selendrile sighed, glad that the rather tense conversation was over, then frowned inwardly as he recalled that he'd forgotten to ask Faolán when the coro— when the _Changeover_would be taking place. The Changeover was the true name of the ceremony where the Mahyt's power and authority was transferred from the current Mahyt to her successor, though he'd used the human term— 'coronation'— to describe this particular dragon custom to Alys. There had never been a Changeover in Selendrile's lifetime, or even in that of his parents; the current Mahyt, ancient as she was, had been anointed over 300 years ago.

As he didn't feel any particular desire to speak to his brother again, it didn't take much thought for Selendrile to decide to seek the information he needed from other sources; his mother or sister— or, if they weren't easily locatable, he could just ask Dastar when he saw him. It went without saying that he would pay a visit to the older dragon while he was here: Dastar was practically family.

Relaxing back into his hollowed-out nest of odds and ends, the dragon-youth glanced sleepily around at his comfortably familiar surroundings. Though most dragons chose to decorate their dwellings with whimsical carvings and exotic artifacts, or tapestries and paintings from the great artisans— mostly dwarves and elves, considering the widely prevailing prejudice towards humans— Selendrile's taste in decorating held one abiding, overwhelming focus: gold. In this manner, at least, he fit the human stereotype of dragons to a T. He hoarded the stuff like it was going out of style (always had), and as a consequence, here in his childhood sleeping place there was hardly a flat surface to be seen that wasn't absolutely smothered in aureate dragon scales (very little actual gold found its way to the Golden Dragon Clan's ancestral dwelling, much less be spared for a juvenile dragon with a fondness for shinies, so he'd had to settle for the plentiful substitute). Scales of other colors— green and blue and brown, with the occasional red thrown in— were scattered artistically amongst the gold for aesthetic appeal.

He wondered if Alys would like it.

Then he clenched his teeth abruptly, almost angry. What right did she have to overtake his thoughts this way? What audacity— to master the very thoughts, the very heart of a dragon! What eldritch power resided in that seemingly innocent human guise that gave her the ability to so effortlessly destroy walls and shields that had been decades in the making?

But she always had been the exception to him, hadn't she?

* * *

A short prowl through the caves revealed that none of his family were in (even Faolán seemed to have vanished at some point), so it was with a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation that Selendrile departed as well, on his way to visit Dastar, who lived nearly on the other side of the central chamber from Selendrile's family. It _had_ been decades since they'd last seen each other, after all, and though he couldn't imagine _Dastar_ of all people holding a grudge, he had a strange, irrational fear that things might have _changed. _Perhaps time had changed them both too much . . . The thought brought a pang; because truthfully, next to Alys, Dastar was the person he trusted most. Or . . . he had, at least.

Dastar's chambers were located right on top of a large, glowing tendril of silver root. Though a cave could hardly be found among the Golden Dragon clan's dwellings that didn't derive at least _some _lighting from the Silver Tree's presence (enough for their enhanced eyesight to make do with, at least), he required something more substantial, considering that the majority of his time was spent in human form with his nose buried in a book. The older dragon was the unofficial librarian and historian of the clan—mostly, Selendrile thought privately, because he was the only one willing to spend the requisite amount of time as a human (dragon forms, however powerful, weren't exactly the most convenient when it came time to turn a page or hold a pen). The widely held opinion among the other dragons was that Dastar was just a bit batty for forsaking his natural form in favor of _books _of all things (an attitude not helped in the slightest by his _other _eccentricities), but the older dragon seemed to be content.

When he reached the entrance to the library (which Dastar's chambers were located just behind), Selendrile was forced to shape-shift. The tunnel was far too small for any but the youngest of dragons to fit through in their original form. As he strode down the tunnel, something tickled at the edges of his mind—an obscure feeling of unease, like there was something he was forgetting.

Then he faltered slightly as it came to him; a small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth and he shook his head incredulously. Alys had brainwashed him well: since when had he actually felt _more_comfortable wearing clothes?

After a few minutes of leisurely walking, Selendrile caught a whiff of the scent of dust and leather and ancient tomes: just the way he remembered it. So many of his memories took place in this library or the rooms behind it—the sense of nostalgia was almost stronger than even in his family's home. The memories were still brilliant in their clarity, despite the passage of time: late nights hearing stories about the great dragons of generations past, Dastar giving him that long-nosed look that was the same whether he was in dragon form or human, that time when he finally managed to shape-shift into a fish, only to discover that gills didn't like trying to breathe outside of water . . . So many memories, most of them fond ones. Dastar had been more of a father figure to him than Fastion ever had; that was certain. _But perhaps blood always tells, _thought Selendrile a bit bitterly. However much he disliked the thought, he knew that Fastion had undeniably left his mark on Selendrile's personality. As much as he loved Dastar, he was self-aware enough to realize that they weren't a thing alike, personality-wise, unlike himself and his biological father.

Entering the library, Selendrile felt his tenseness dissipating as he breathed in the calm, relaxed atmosphere. Maybe . . . Maybe _this _was home, or something close to it.

"Dastar?" he called, walking forward and peering down the nearest aisle of books. An incoherent grunt was all the response he received.

Despite himself, he felt a smile tugging at his lips as he made his way expertly through the haphazardly placed myriad of bookshelves. He could find his way around the place pretty well, and Dastar, of course, knew where each and every cobweb was located, but anyone else would be hopelessly lost within moments (and Selendrile had been, many times, when he was younger).

"Dastar, it's Selendrile," he clarified quietly when the older dragon's ruffled caramel locks, speckled with white, came into view.

Dastar glanced up from the book which rested on the desk in front of him, gazing down his long nose at the dragon-youth. He blinked for a moment, then waved a hand dismissively. "Hello, boy. Sorry, can't help you with shape-shifting right now; I'm busy." With these words, spoken as if they'd seen each other just days ago rather than decades, the hawk-eyed dragon bent down again to squint at the huge tome before him.

Selendrile was unsurprised; Dastar had a rather . . . unique perspective even at the best of times. Easily slipping into the patient mindset required to deal with the eccentric older dragon, he lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs and leaning back against the nearest bookshelf. It wouldn't be long . . .

Sure enough, a few minutes later the book was shut with a resounding thump. "Human wars," Dastar commented in a bland tone of voice. "Fascinating. Now, what can I do for you? You haven't come to visit in a while, as I recall."

Selendrile wasn't sure whether he should be amused or exasperated. It was _just _like the man to make such a blatant understatement without the faintest hint of irony.

"You recall correctly. I've been away for . . . quite some time," the dragon-youth replied, finally deciding on amusement. "I just came to catch up and see how you were faring—my shape-shifting isn't really in need of help anymore. No more accidentally turning into a trout instead of a mongoose."

Dastar actually looked faintly disappointed. "That's unfortunate," he said glumly. "I like fish. Although I do prefer salmon over trout," he added thoughtfully.

Selendrile raised an eyebrow. "Why would that matter? It's not as though you could eat me anyway," he pointed out.

Dastar nodded agreeably, seeming unbothered. "Too true, yes. I wonder if shape-shifted salmon would taste any different from ordinary salmon? I shall have to consult _The Magic In The Flavor._ Let me see . . ." Apparently forgetting Selendrile's presence entirely, the yellow-eyed dragon darted down several different aisles in search for the book in question, Selendrile trailing behind at a more leisurely pace. By the time the dragon-youth caught up again, Dastar was scanning titles busily. "No, no—Not that one—no, no—Um, no . . . BLAST! Where is it?"

Turning, his eyes landed on Selendrile. "Oh, there you are. You wouldn't happen to have espied _The Magic In The Flavor _recently, would you?" He blinked owlishly, awaiting a reply.

"Not that I recall, no," said Selendrile dryly.

Dastar gave him a speculative look, then unexpectedly pulled him into a rather awkward hug. Selendrile, keeping his confusion internal, stiffly allowed the embrace.

"That's called a hug," the yellow-eyed dragon explained as he stepped back. "Humans use it as a means to express affection or gladness."

The dragon-youth nodded. "I know."

Dastar paused at this, eyeing him carefully. "Hmm . . ." he murmured, his tone thoughtful. Selendrile shifted uneasily under Dastar's suddenly sharp gaze. "You're different," the older dragon said finally, sounding inexplicably satisfied about something. "You've changed. Not just physically, either."

"Yes," Selendrile answered simply. Dastar may have been scatterbrained the majority of the time, but when he finally did decide to put those sharp eyes of his to good use, it was incredible the amount that he could perceive. When he needed to, he could read a person like the books he surrounded himself with; no walls could deter him.

"You're tied more to there than here anymore."

Dastar's words, enigmatic as they were, were so quiet that for a moment Selendrile thought he'd misheard. It was a strange thing to say, by all accounts. He allowed himself a slight frown of confusion, looking at Dastar in a clear request for clarification.

"You made ties out there; formed bonds," the other dragon said knowingly. "Or _a _bond, at the least. Who is it?"

Selendrile sighed, shrugging in an almost imperceptible movement. "She's human." Here, with Dastar, was possibly the only place in the entire Clan where he would receive no ridicule for his choice of company. "Well—almost human," he added, remembering. It felt strange to speak of Alys here, like his two worlds were overlapping a bit at the edges.

"Almost?" Dastar questioned curiously. As they spoke, they made their way through the short tunnel that connected the library to the older dragon's chambers.

Selendrile hesitated to answer, but only for a moment. "I bonded with her accidentally, and she was—changed. She has senses perhaps on par with ours, now, and some form of foreknowledge; she knew that I would be leaving to come here even before I did."

Dastar looked fascinated. "A dragon creating a magical bond with a human? Unheard of! I thought only elves did that sort of thing. I'll have to look it up in _Magical Bonding For Dummies._"

The dragon-youth could practically _see _the internal struggle going on as Dastar restrained his initial impulse to head immediately back to the library.

Deciding that a distraction was in order, Selendrile queried, "I meant to ask you: when will the Changeover be?"

Dastar blinked and looked at his younger companion, his vaguely distressed expression vanishing in favor of confusion. "What? Oh!" he said, seeming to re-gather his composure. "Ahem. Tomorrow, when the sun is highest in the sky outside," he said solemnly.

Selendrile nodded, his thoughts on the coming ceremony. "So tomorrow at noon."

Dastar frowned. "Yes. That." Then he appeared to be unable to contain his curiosity any longer, for it was with barely concealed excitement in his eyes that he asked, "Did your human friend go through any other changes?"

Sighing in slight exasperation (but more amusement), Selendrile made to deny it—but then stopped abruptly. "Actually . . . yes," he said, surprised that he had forgotten. "The very first change that we noticed—and the most obvious one— was her blood. It's silver now, like ours."

He watched—first with curiosity, then with mounting anxiety—as Dastar's eyes went wide and his mouth opened and closed, no sound escaping. He bore a marked resemblance to a fish. Making Dastar speechless was an impressive feat by anyone's standards—but it didn't last long.

"Selendrile!" Dastar positively gasped, still looking like someone had just told him that grass was naturally bright pink, and tiny creatures called shoofroos had been dyeing it all this time. "Selendrile, she might not be human anymore."

Selendrile just looked at him. "Yes," he said slowly, "I thought that I had made that quite obvious."

The agitated librarian shook his head impatiently. "No, no—I mean, if her blood has completely changed like you said, then it means that her _heart_ has changed—that the very _essence _of her has changed, which means—" Here Dastar paused, taking a deep breath. "Selendrile—she might have actually been turned into a dragon."

* * *

**AN: Below is a Dragon Cast of Characters and general guide to dragon ages, if anyone is curious. Don't forget to review before you go! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**

**-o-  
**

**Approximate Guide To Dragon Ages & Cast of Characters:**

**Guide:**

First, I'm only just now developing this, so if you notice inconsistencies with things mentioned in previous chapters, please let me know.  
A dragon's lifespan is around 800 years on average, but they can live to be over 1,000.  
Dragons grow extremely quickly for the first year or so—even faster than human children. They can walk and communicate effectively at the age of about 6 months (since they don't need to learn to shape the words, only speak with their minds, this is pretty much instinctive). After that, the aging and maturation process slows. When they reach thirty they're still in their preteens by human reckoning, and after that they age at about a 1:3 ratio (dragon years to human years) until they reach the dragon equivalent of about thirty, whereupon the aging process slows dramatically.

**Dragon Cast of Characters:  
(Note that some of these haven't been introduced yet.)**

**Selendrile:** A nearly full grown Golden Dragon with amethyst eyes. Selendrile is somewhat scorned among the other dragons for abandoning his clan and family in favor of traveling when he was very young, though he was forced to return when it was time for a Changeover to take place. He is the first known dragon to form a close enough bond with a human that the human in question was physically affected by the dragon's magic. In human form he appears to be in his late teens or early twenties.

**Fastion:** Selendrile's father. An adult Golden Dragon with black eyes, notorious for his apathetic attitude towards anyone but his life-mate, Ariana. In human form he appears to be in his forties.

**Ariana:** Selendrile's mother. An adult Golden Dragon with lavender eyes, Ariana is widely viewed as a saint or a miracle worker for putting up with her stoic life-mate, Fastion, and getting him to put up with her. In human form she appears to be in her late thirties.

**Faolán:** Selendrile's older brother. A nearly full grown Golden Dragon with maroon eyes whose maturity level (or lack thereof) does not reflect his true age. In human form he appears to be in his mid-twenties.

**Sashenka:** Selendrile's younger sister. A young Golden Dragon with blue-violet eyes, Sashenka is somewhat hyperactive, but shows a tolerance and a willingness to forgive that belies her young age. In human form she appears to be in her mid-teens.

**Dastar: **A bibliophile with pale yellow 'hawk eyes', the librarian/historian of the Golden Dragon Clan, and Selendrile's friend, mentor, and erstwhile 'beloved uncle'. In human form he appears to be in his late forties.

**Mahyt:** A very large Golden Dragon with a Mahyt's trademark silver eyes, and the longtime matriarch of the Golden Dragon Clan. According to rumor, she holds a grudge against humankind for the slaying of her daughter and the subsequent suicide of her son-in-law shortly after her granddaughter's birth. As her life-mate is also deceased, she has no living family other than her now-grown granddaughter, Liadan. In human form she appears . . . really, really old.

**Liadan:** The Mahyt's granddaughter and heir. A very large Golden Dragon with pale pink eyes, though this will change when the Changeover takes place. Her mother was slain by human knights when she was very young, and it is speculated that she shares her grandmother's dislike of humans because of this. In human form she appears to be in her late thirties or early forties.


	9. Chapter 9: The Changeover

**Before:**_ The agitated librarian shook his head impatiently. "No, no—I mean, if her blood has completely changed like you said, then it means that her __heart __has changed—that the very __essence__ of her has changed, which means—" Here Dastar paused, taking a deep breath. "Selendrile—she might have actually been turned into a dragon."_

**Chapter 9:****  
The Changeover**

It was . . . well, if not incomprehensible, then verging on it. With Alys and Selendrile there had always been a certain unspoken understanding about The Way Things Were—he was a dragon, and therefore much older, wiser, tougher, and more right than her (though she might have debated the last one). She was an anomaly of her race, to be sure—but still, undeniably human. He was the stronger one—the protector, the provider, the enforcer. Yet, despite all that, she had fought for him when he could not for himself—despite the fact that he should have been the stronger one, she was more than capable of being strong too, when it was needed. So perhaps the lines between them were not so absolute after all . . . But still, there had always been that chasm between them: the monumental difference in every way that lay between human and dragon; mortal and immortal.

With that gone, what was there left?

While he felt just slightly guilty (like he had committed some sort of violation—like he should have _known _what was happening, somehow, and asked for _permission _before stealing away her humanity), mostly he was just horribly, selfishly _glad_—because time was one thing he couldn't protect Alys from (he'd thought), and the knowledge had been carefully buried inside of him somewhere—that no matter how close he held her, no matter how carefully he shielded her, no matter how much he loved her, he would lose her eventually to her own mortality. And some small, tense part of himself that he hadn't even known was there relaxed. Alys—his human—was human no longer. Whether she was still his . . . well, that remained to be seen. But she wasn't _theirs _anymore—and to his mind, that was good.

They didn't deserve her.

* * *

It wasn't until much later that night that he left Dastar's chambers behind the library. Perhaps he should have placed more priority on spending time with his family—but Dastar was family too, in a way, and they'd had a lot of catching up to do. At least when he told Dastar the tale of his many years away from home he didn't need to censor his words, which was more than he could say about his blood family (though, now that Alys was actually a dragon, he wouldn't have to tiptoe around her in conversation anymore—he could tell anyone that asked with complete honesty that she was as much a fey as he was). And even ignoring all that—as much as he would love to spend time with his mother and sister, the male members of his family were a different story. The bad feelings there weren't going to dissipate anytime soon, and after being in the presence of Dastar's cheerful (if bizarre) personality for most of the day, the prospect of reentering the tense atmosphere of the family cave was an unpleasant one.

Selendrile allowed a small sigh of relief to escape him when he flew in and found the cavern occupied only by Sashenka. Her back was turned to him; she appeared to be raptly occupied by whatever was in front of her, which was hidden from Selendrile by the bulk of her body. Still, she must have heard him coming in, for she commented without turning, _::You've been doing that a lot since you came back. Sighing, I mean. Did you always do this and I just never noticed, or is it something you picked up while you were gone?::_

He blinked. Did he really sigh so often that Sashenka had already noticed? He'd only been back for a couple of days, after all. _::I didn't realize . . .:: _he muttered, half to himself. _::I must have picked it up from Alys. She sighs more than anyone else I've ever seen.::_ Of course, considering what _she'd _picked up from _him _(species, among other things), Selendrile didn't really have the right to complain.

_::Oh, right! Your shapechanger friend!:: _exclaimed Sashenka as she finally turned from her former occupation (some sort of metal puzzle), seeming pleased with herself for having remembered. She was smiling, and her dark, blue-violet eyes were warm—but Selendrile suddenly felt a sharp stab of something resembling pity for his sister. She was so sheltered, so cloistered—there was so much of the world that she had never experienced, and if the clan had its way, she never would.

_::Yes,::_ he said. After a moment he added wistfully, _::You would like her, I think.:: _And he wished—for the first time—to _share _Alys; for his sister to know his human (_not anymore_) who was stubborn and easily angered and generous and _unique . . . _And the strength of the desire startled him, because up to this point, he had only ever wanted to keep Alys _away _from others—protected; _his. _Maybe it was different with Sashenka because she was precious to him too.

Speaking of—she was giving him a thoughtful look. _::You really care about her, don't you?::_

Surprised, he stayed silent as she continued, _::Usually you're pretty stoic—you're a lot like Da that way, but don't' worry, you're not near as bad as he is—but, it's different when you talk about her. Alys, I mean. Your eyes go all warm—like they used to when you'd tell me about Dastar, when I was little. You talk about her like she's . . . family.:: _

Sashenka's eyes darkened a little at the last word, the hesitation in her voice betraying her hurt—and Selendrile could hear the unspoken question: _Is she more family to you than we are? Is that why you left?_

So he replied carefully, trying to be honest and reassure his sister at the same time, _::I only met her around a year ago, but we've hardly been separated at all since then. Alys is . . . very important to me.:: _He held his sister's eyes, watching them grow even sadder as he spoke. _::But . . . she also helped me to remember what else is important to me . . . what is truly precious.:: _A pause, then, in the face of Sashenka's blank, astonished stare, he added hesitantly, _::Like family.::_ It was true: part of the novelty of Alys, when he first met her, was her devotion to her father (her _deceased _father, at that). That sort of parental relationship had been utterly foreign to him—and he'd wanted to see how far she would really go for the love of a memory.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Sashenka's cheerful, _::Well—that's good, isn't it?:: _She was grinning and her eyes were soft with emotion and bright again—maybe a little brighter than mere happiness could account for, but Selendrile wasn't about to call her out on her tears.

_::What's good?:: _wondered Ariana from the cave entrance behind him.

_::Nothing!:: _the two siblings chorused together, never losing eye contact.

One conversation wasn't enough to erase decades of resentment and estrangement. But maybe . . . just maybe . . . it was a start.

* * *

Selendrile was woken the next morning by the growling of the wild animal inside of his stomach. He glared down at the offending body part, annoyed. Of course, it wasn't his stomach's fault that he hadn't eaten at all for the last two days (not as big a deal for a dragon as it would be for a human, but still too long); it was no wonder it was protesting the neglect. Sighing quietly, he rose from his nest of gold, taking a moment to stretch before heading out the door.

In the central cavern, though, was the silent, unmoving figure of his father. Much of Selendrile's appetite decided to take the opportunity to flee, and the dragon-youth wished distractedly that he could do the same—but it was a silly thought, and he banished it with a shake of his golden head.

He waited a few moments for the older dragon to acknowledge his presence with more than just a disinterested stare; when it became apparent that no greeting was forthcoming, he suppressed a sigh and took upon the task himself, dipping his head respectfully and saying in a low voice, _::Good morning, Father.::_

Fastion, looking vaguely annoyed that the tense silence had been broken, nodded in return—but Selendrile found himself suddenly angry—angry in a way he hadn't been in years. He had thought that he'd long ago resigned himself to his father's indifference, but apparently that wasn't the case—and he found that he didn't wanted to let things be any longer.

_::What made you this way?:: _he asked sharply, not bothering to hide the animosity in his tone. _::What made you so cold, so arrogant that you can't even __lower __yourself to interact with your own children? Mahyt, it's like you're nothing more than a warped, twisted __parody__ of a real person! What excuse do you have?:: _he demanded. The words were harsher than Selendrile had intended—but once he'd started speaking his resentment and (he was ashamed to admit) bordering _hatred _had taken over, and the words had flowed without his consent.

Fastion's eyes widened almost imperceptibly; this at all wasn't typical of their interactions. In fact, it was probably the most Selendrile had said to him since he was just a dragonet, and still under the illusion that his father actually cared.

When the dark-eyed dragon seemed to actually be thinking over his words, Selendrile calmed slightly, beginning to wish that he hadn't been quite so indiscreet—but then, if he actually got an explanation out of this—some closure—it would be worth the loss of control.

Then Fastion said, in his deep, gravelly voice, _::I suppose . . . I have none.:: _

—and the anger was back, just like that. But it was just one sharp flare, which soon faded into familiar resignation. _I really should have known better,_ Selendrile thought, but despite everything, it was still—disappointing (he would not say _hurtful_). He snorted, shaking his head incredulously. _::Of course you don't,:: _he muttered bitterly. _::Of __course__ not. I'd nearly forgotten why I left in the first place . . .:: _Snorting again, he moved towards the door—but a voice stopped him in his tracks.

_::You left because of me?:: _

There was some faint curiosity there—as well as something else that Selendrile couldn't venture a guess at.

_::Yes,:: _he said after a moment. _::Mostly.:: _

He didn't wait for a reply. There probably wouldn't have been one anyway.

* * *

After venting some of his frustration by flying furiously southward until he caught the scent of a herd of elk, Selendrile satisfied his hunger in short order. He was much calmer now; more capable of looking at things objectively, but he still had the inexplicable desire to talk things over with someone (preferably Alys—but she wasn't available at the moment, which just made _everything _worse).

As he flew back towards the entrance to the Clan dwellings, the dragon-youth found himself examining the origins of the strange impulse. Before he'd met Alys, he'd been a largely solitary being—partially by nature, but mostly developed from years and years of self-imposed isolation. Spending time with her, though, had brought out parts of him that he'd never before realized existed—such as this bizarre urge to dump all of his troubles on the nearest passerby.

_Alright, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, _Selendrile amended. The urge wasn't really to pour his heart out to the first person he encountered, but rather to vent to an understanding ear, to someone he trusted—the most likely candidate in this case being Dastar.

Glancing at the sky to confirm that he had a few hours yet until it was time for the Changeover, Selendrile—somewhat hesitantly—decided to pay the librarian another visit.

* * *

On his way across the central cavern he spotted the Mahyt, who was near the Silver Tree, most likely doing something in preparation for the upcoming ceremony. She circled the Tree slowly, making a low humming noise in the back of her throat that Selendrile could just barely pick up on from where he was. It was plain to see that every step she took was an effort for her; that she was near the end of her time. At this point she was probably incapable of flying entirely. Still, when Selendrile landed briefly to bow, his respect was unfeigned: he wasn't just making the appropriate motions, as he all-too-often did with his father. The ancient dragon smiled kindly at him in response, still making her painfully slow way in a sun-wise circle around the brightly glowing column, and Selendrile's heart softened; he remembered why the ancient was so beloved among her people. She even had kindness to spare for him: the renegade, the prodigal of the Golden Dragon Clan. Of course, there was also the possibility that her memory was going and she hadn't the faintest idea of who she was smiling at.

Snorting in guilty amusement at the thought, Selendrile took off once more.

"Dastar?" he called once he'd reached his destination, now in human form. When no reply echoed back through the stacks, he frowned and advanced to the librarian's desk—only to find it unoccupied. His next stop was Dastar's chambers. But a surprise awaited him there: his friend had company. Considering that the majority of the Clan preferred to ignore and avoid the eccentric dragon, this was unusual.

A pixie-faced dragon-woman with pale, unnervingly pink eyes sat cross-legged on the floor across from Dastar, who was in a similar pose. To a human she would have appeared around forty—though Selendrile, aware that she was a dragon, knew that she was in fact much older. Selendrile waited for a moment, but they didn't appear to be doing anything other than sitting there enjoying the silence, so he didn't have to worry that he was interrupting a conversation.

"Hello," he greeted cautiously, causing the two to jump in surprise.

Dastar recovered first. "Selendrile!" he said cheerfully, clambering to his feet. "Excellent timing—I don't believe that you two have met?"

Selendrile and the stranger, eyeing each other with mutual curiosity, nodded in unison, and Dastar smiled. "Well, then. Selendrile, this is my friend Liadan. Liadan, this is Selendrile—obviously. If you recall, I've told you a bit about him."

The female dragon—Liadan—reflexively smiled back. Selendrile sympathized: Dastar's smiles were contagious the way that other people's yawns were, and he was fighting the urge himself.

"So, you're the infamous Selendrile?" It was more of a statement than a question—and though Selendrile stiffened slightly at the 'infamous' comment (he _was_ rather well known for what was seen as his 'desertion'), she hadn't said it with the coldness that he might have expected—in fact, he would have called her tone friendly if not for the words.

Then she went on, glancing fondly at Dastar, "I've heard so much about you—believe me, when he says 'a bit' it's the understatement of the century. It's nice to finally meet you in person."

—And Selendrile understood, with a faint pang of embarrassment at how touchy he was getting, that she hadn't been referencing his 'reputation' at all—she was only talking about what she'd heard of him from Dastar. He wondered if he should smile a bit in an attempt to return the courtesy, but found that the idea grated at his nerves; he'd never been one for social niceties anyway, and he hardly smiled for those closest to him, much less a near-stranger.

Still, wanting to make up for leaping to conclusions earlier (even though he was the only one who knew about it), he did his level best not to offend her. "I'm flattered," he said, allowing a hint of teasing to enter his tone as he, too, looked at Dastar. "Why _in_famous, though?"

She affected an air of condescension, but made it so exaggerated that it was obviously faked. "What? You didn't actually think that all the stories were good, did you?" Then she laughed, shedding the assumed air as someone else might have shed a piece of clothing. "I'll leave you two here to talk."

Before leaving, though, she turned to Dastar. "Thank you," she told him in an undertone, obviously sincere. "Your idea of comfort is a little unorthodox, but—it was just what I needed. Thank you so much." Then she leaned over, pecked him on the cheek, and was gone, just like that. Selendrile, eyes curious, watched her go.

Amusement intruded, though, when he glanced over at Dastar and saw the older dragon's fond, slightly goofy grin. He'd never pictured his mentor in that sort of a relationship before, but Liadan really seemed to care about him . . . and if Dastar's expression was any indicator, he felt the same way and more. Mahyt, he hoped that _he_ never looked that way after talking to Alys—But no, of course he didn't. He had far more self-control than that.

Thinking of Sashenka and smiling inwardly at the parallels, he queried, "You really care about her, don't you?"

Dastar instantly erased the silly smile from his face, whipping around to face Selendrile with comically wide eyes. "What? Er—That is—"

Selendrile allowed a smirk to tug at the edges of his lips, and Dastar abruptly stopped stuttering.

"You," he said sulkily, "are entirely too observant for your own good."

The dragon-youth looked incredulously at him. "No. I'm not. You're just incredibly obvious."

"Am _not_," Dastar protested, but there wasn't any real heat in it. Selendrile just shrugged.

"What was she here for?" he asked, remembering the dragon-woman's heartfelt thanks.

A worried frown passed over Dastar's face—an uncharacteristically serious expression for the eccentric dragon. "The Changeover," he mumbled in reply, suddenly distracted. "She was nervous about it."

"Why?" Selendrile wondered, baffled—what was there to worry about? You didn't have to do anything but stand there and watch—unless, of course, you were the Mahyt or the heir.

Dastar's frown vanished, and he rolled his eyes. "You didn't recognize the name? Silly boy." He shook his head and sighed. "She's the Mahyt's granddaughter; the heir."

Well. That explained it, then. He'd probably be nervous too, if it was him. "Oh."

Dastar chuckled—presumably at the incredibly witty comeback—then turned marginally more serious. "But that's enough of Liadan's business: what brings _you _here?"

Selendrile's mood plummeted at the reminder. But it _was_ the reason he was here, so . . .

"It's . . ." He quieted for a moment, but the older dragon just waited patiently. ". . . It's my father. We had a . . . dispute."

The librarian blinked owlishly. "Oh. I see. And?"

A smile tugged at Selendrile's lips, but then disappeared as he sighed. "Well . . . more like I yelled at him and he just didn't care. As usual."

Dastar looked thoughtful. "Selendrile, your father . . ." His brow wrinkled in concentration as he tried to sort out what he wanted to say. "Fastion is . . . hard to fathom. He's younger than I am, you know—and I remember enough to know that he wasn't always the way he is now."

Selendrile listened intently, expression rapt. He wasn't seeking reconciliation anymore, oh no—he'd long since given up on that. He just wanted to _understand . . ._

"As far as I am aware, he never knew his mother. I had nearly reached my first century when his father was killed by wyverns, but he was only in his teens—so young—and it . . . scarred him. He wouldn't accept any comfort or any sort of sympathy from anyone, but he was most hostile towards the men. I think that they reminded him of his father—that he was afraid of letting them too close and getting hurt again. Your mother, though . . . she was even younger at the time. She wasn't trying to comfort, she just wanted someone to play with, and she couldn't seem to comprehend that Fastion just _didn't_—much less why. She was so persistent, even then . . . I think it was despite himself that he started to love her (though it wasn't romantic at the time, of course not—they were only children), but he was wise enough to realize after the fact. He stopped pushing her away—instead he kept her as close as he could, like he was trying to use her as both a replacement for and a shield from any other sort of affection . . ."

Dastar went quiet again for a moment while Selendrile tried to process what he had just heard. It made him feel slightly sympathetic, sure—but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. And he suddenly realized that what he'd been searching for hadn't been reconciliation—hadn't even been understanding, really: he'd been searching for forgiveness Not his father's, no: his own.

"In some ways I think that Fastion never really grew out of that," Dastar murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. "He's still a frightened child, selfishly determined to cling to the one thing that he knows won't hurt him—and selfishly determined never to let it. It's no excuse for shutting out his own children, of course, but . . ." He shrugged. "Maybe you could give him a chance. . . . No, scratch that—give him lots of chances. Lots. It'd be hard, and you'd be working alone—there certainly wouldn't be any help from his end—but I think that in the end it would be worth it."

Selendrile's face was smooth and expressionless as he mentally went over what had been said, analyzing his own reactions. After a long moment he shook his head. "I . . . I don't think I can do that. I don't think that I have it in me to forgive him. If he's content without my love . . . well, then, I'll be content without his. I shouldn't have to _earn _it, and I refuse to try." His voice grew more and more confident as he spoke, and at the end he looked up from where he'd been contemplating the floor and gave Dastar a rare smile. "Besides, I don't really need him, do I? I've got you."

They both blushed a little bit—Selendrile slightly embarrassed at the display of emotion and Dastar touched by sentiment—until Selendrile, in an attempt to change the subject, asked suddenly, "What was that thing Liadan did, earlier? With her lips?"

"Oh—er," began Dastar awkwardly, "well. That's called a kiss. It's a human gesture where one individual touches his or her lips to something; a cheek or a hand, for instance. It's a sign of affection."

The dragon-youth's expression grew thoughtful. "What about a kiss on the lips?"

Bright yellow eyes widened slightly. "Um . . . yes. That too."

Selendrile wondered why the other dragon was blushing.

* * *

As the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, the caves and surrounds around the Silver Tree began to grow darker—while the Tree itself grew brighter, as though absorbing the light. By the time noon came around, the stone of the Clan dwelling was the same dull gray as the rest of the native rock, and the Tree shone like a beacon. For Selendrile, it was almost frightening to see his childhood home so changed, the magic quite literally sucked from the very stone beneath his feet. He could only imagine how Liadan felt.

Along with the hundreds of other members of the Golden Dragon Clan (which was a pathetically small number, though more than he'd thought at first), he was settled in the worn and hollowed stone ledges that surrounded the Silver tree, waiting for the Changeover. A few dragons flew in at the last minute, but Selendrile hardly noticed: he was gazing out over the sea of gold in wonder, having never seen so many dragons all together in one place before; it was strangely beautiful. He noted with a small, internal smile that Dastar-the-outcast had a place of honor right next to the Tree, a position which he appeared to be putting to good use as he stood nose-to-nose with Liadan, offering comfort—whether verbally or silently, Selendrile couldn't tell from this distance, especially with the noise that that many dragons at once inevitably made. He was sitting with his family, somewhere in the center of the restless mass of dragons.

Despite the size and volume of the crowd, the cavern grew utterly silent save for the occasional scrape of scale on stone the moment that the Mahyt emerged from her dwelling at the base of the Tree; the atmosphere was fraught with tension. Only the Mahyt herself knew what to expect now.

The ancient's eerie silver eyes didn't seem quite so unnaturally bright next to the blazing Tree. Lifting one withered, trembling claw, she beckoned to Liadan, who, with visible apprehension, stopped hovering near Dastar and came forward to the old dragon's side.

"Do you swear . . ." the Mahyt began, but then drifted off, her eyes meeting those of her granddaughter. Something passed between them, then: something nearly palpable, but impossible for anyone but the participants to understand. When the moment had passed, both of them wore faint smiles of mutual understanding, and the Mahyt continued the ceremony, asking several questions and waiting after each while Liadan gave the traditional responses, her voice growing more steady and self-assured with each moment.

At the end of the ritual oath of loyalty and service to Tree and Clan, the Mahyt briefly turned from Liadan and then did something that shocked most of the assembly; she ripped a gaping hole in the sacred Tree with all five of her brittle claws. A stir ran through the assorted dragons, though no one protested outright: to them, such an act was bordering on sacrilege.

Glowing silver eyes turned back to fix on Liadan's pink ones. _::Drink,:: _the Mahyt rasped, her quiet voice carrying throughout the dead-silent cavern. _::Drink. Live.:: _

For once, there was no hesitation in Liadan's movements: she was indisputably the heir. She stepped forward, stretched out her neck, and licked—just once, even as the slowly bleeding bark began to close over—leaving only a scar, just like countless others around the same spot. Selendrile could hardly believe that he'd never noticed them before, considering that the Tree wasn't marked that way anywhere else.

Liadan went rigid, her eyes snapping shut; when the reopened there were swirls of silver among the rose-pink. With a sigh that echoed strangely through the stillness, she turned her head and touched the tip of her muzzle to that of her grandmother.

And the Tree exploded with light, shining with a brilliance that forced most of the assembled dragons, including Selendrile, to turn away, shielding their eyes. It seemed as though the entire world was engulfed in silver flames, and deep within his being, Selendrile felt something shift; a part of him that he hadn't even known existed was changing—a soul-deep bond separating from its source and moving to another—to Liadan, he realized suddenly, recognizing the presence on the other end of the bond.

When the flames retreated, the walls and ceiling had returned to their former state of pale illumination, and the Silver Tree was no longer so bright that it hurt to look at it directly. Liadan stood alone beside the Tree; her eyes glowed completely silver.

* * *

**AN: You know, should I change this story to Romance/Family genre instead of Romance/Fantasy? I was thinking about it, but since all this 'Selendrile's family' business was more of a side-story than part of the main plot, I wasn't sure that it qualified. Of course, there's also the whole 'Thaddeus' thing… I especially want to know what you all thought of the Selendrile/Sashenka and Selendrile/Fastion dynamic. I was trying to create a contrast there—the reconciliation of Selendrile and Sashenka vs. Selendrile's decision to essentially give up on his father. Hopefully I did a much better job fleshing out my original characters this time around. Please don't forget to review! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**

**P.S. I saw this and immediately thought, **_**Dastar! **_**Only, the eyes are the wrong color.**_ rlv . zcache . com/book_wyrm_reading_dragon_ipad_case_speckcase-p176352022690032319vu1z1_400 . jpg_ (remove spaces)


	10. Chapter 10: Only In Dreams

**Chapter 10:****  
Only In Dreams **

The moments directly after the Changeover were chaos: the air echoed with roars and the flapping of wings, while Selendrile's mind swiftly became crowded with the excited voices of hundreds. His view of Liadan was blocked when several of the dragons in front of him rose into the air, keeping their wings in close and flapping furiously in an effort not to clip each other, and when she came back into view she was with Dastar again, her head tucked under his, seeking comfort and shelter. When the crowd began to converge, the normally easygoing dragon's rather dazed expression quickly vanished—and he grew astonishingly fierce in defense of his mate (if they weren't yet, then it was plainly only a matter of time), spreading his wings around her in a protective shield and snarling with vicious white fangs at anyone who came too close. Amazingly enough, the intimidation tactics worked: even the most aggressive well-wishers seemed to take the hint and keep their distance. He was still a dragon, after all, and a rather good sized one, no matter that he spent so much time out of his natural form.

When Selendrile approached, he received a snarl too—but then he snorted in amusement and Dastar seemed to realize who exactly he was threatening.

_::Oh,::_ the librarian mumbled sheepishly. _::Whoops.::_ Selendrile noted, however, that he didn't relax his protective stance at all.

_::I just came to say goodbye,::_ the dragon-youth said. At this Dastar raised his head slightly, looking surprised and somewhat displeased, and Liadan's nose poked out from the circle of his wings, silver eyes peering out at Selendrile.

_::You're leaving already? Didn't you just get here?::_ the newly-appointed Mahyt inquired.

_::Yes,::_ Selendrile conceded, _::but I won't be gone for long. I'm just going to fetch a friend.::_ He didn't want to depart again so soon after arriving—Sashenka would never forgive him—but he was also eager to reunite with Alys and bring her to meet his family. Of course, all this assumed that she wouldn't throw a hissy fit and run off when he dropped the bombshell of Dastar's theory on her.

Dastar relaxed slightly at his words, though Liadan only looked more curious. _::Alys?:: _the hawk-eyed dragon questioned, and at Selendrile's affirmative nod he looked terribly pleased. _::I will get to meet her, won't I?:: _he asked expectantly.

The dragon-youth blinked slightly, surprised and slightly offended that Dastar even thought that he had to ask. _::Of course,:: _he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, inciting a faint snort from Liadan.

_::Goodbye, Dastar. I'll see you when I get back.:: _Then, smirking slightly, he sketched a bow to the golden dome where Liadan sheltered. _::Farewell, Mahyt.::_

_::It's __Liadan__,:: _she asserted fiercely, and he eyed her, somewhat bemused, but nodded.

_::Liadan, then,:: _he agreed.

The farewells with his family were next. Selendrile found himself wishing that the distance to where he'd left Alys was shorter, so that he could just pass it as a hunting trip or something and not have to go through all this—but then how would he explain Alys' presence?

_Hey, look what I caught! _A quiet snicker escaped him at the wayward thought.

He was the last to arrive, and the cavern was already occupied with his parents and both his siblings. Faolán and Sashenka were squabbling over the metal puzzle-thing near the door (though the latter glanced up to grin at him as he entered), while Fastion and Ariana spoke to each other in low tones in a secluded corner. Fastion wore that peculiar expression of tenderness, the one that he only got around his life-mate and which rested so oddly upon his usually stoic features. Selendrile's mother, though, appeared upset by something, though she tried to disguise this as soon as she noticed his presence.

_::Selendrile! There you are,::_ she greeted warmly. _::What kept you?::_

_::I was saying goodbye to Dastar and Liadan,:: _he explained.

His family exchanged blank glances (save for Fastion, who was as unresponsive as ever), but it was Sashenka who posed the question: _::. . . Liadan?::_

_::Yes, Liadan,:: _he said, sort of enjoying himself. _::You know, the Mahyt?::_

More blank expressions, then an astonished query of, _::The Mahyt has a __name__?:: _againfrom Sashenka.

He attempted a smirk in her direction, but it didn't suit his draconic features very well. Still, his sister seemed to get the intended message; she scowled at him, complaining under her breath, _::Well, how was __I__ supposed to know? All anyone ever called her was 'the heir', and now 'the Mahyt'!::_

_::Still, though . . . did you think that her parents just said to themselves, 'Well, a future Mahyt doesn't really need a name, does she? Let's just not bother'?:: _interjected Faolán teasingly, seeming just as entertained by the situation as his younger brother. Sashenka maturely stuck her tongue out at him.

Selendrile, out of the corner of his eye, made note of some of the distress in Ariana's eyes fading into fond warmth as she watched her children interact. And he hated to risk bringing it back, but . . . _::Speaking of goodbyes . . .:: _

All eyes turned to him, but before he could continue Sashenka interrupted, eyes flashing. _::No way! You are __not__ leaving again so soon after getting back! I won't let you!:: _

Selendrile just waited for her to finish. _::I was going to say . . . Would you mind housing an extra body for awhile? I was planning on bringing Alys here to visit.::_

Sashenka's dumbfounded expression lasted only for a moment before melting into sheepishness—then excitement. _::Oh! Say yes, mom! Pleeeease?::_ She turned huge, pleading eyes to Ariana, who just smiled.

_::I don't see why not,:: _the lavender-eyed matriarch agreed.

_::Yes! Victory is mine! Am I awesome, or what?:: _

Selendrile couldn't help but smile slightly at Sashenka's enthusiasm—until she turned it on him.

_::Alright!:: _she said emphatically, batting at him with her foreclaws. _::Get out of here. Shoo! The sooner you get out of here, the sooner you're back, right? So fly fast!:: _

And with that, the dragon-youth—still trying to puzzle out what exactly had just occurred—was unceremoniously shoved out the door.

* * *

It wasn't until the next day, in the dark before dawn, that Selendrile finally touched down in the woods outside of Harperton. His wings were stiff and heavy, and he sighed tiredly as they folded in against his sides. He may have set a speed record for that flight, but he'd paid the price for it too. It was with a drooping body but bright, eager eyes that he slipped into Harperton, easing through the shadows with unnatural silence and attracting no notice on the dark, abandoned street, if anyone was even awake to be looking_ The Laughing Loon _would be locked up for the night, of course, but since when had locks deterred him?

Ducking into a shaded alley, he changed forms—from human to a small, pug-nosed bat, his weak, useless eyes retaining their unnaturally bright amethyst hue through the transformation. After allowing a moment to get his bearings in the unfamiliar shape and adjust to navigating with only his now hypersensitive ears, he took to the air once more, flapping upwards and towards Alys window at the inn.

The window was ajar, which was handy—but unusual. He frowned inwardly, swooping forward—and then the scent hit him, causing him to automatically swerve away from the source. Alys' room absolutely _reeked _of smoke—and Selendrile suddenly went cold inside. _I shouldn't have left her—I should have known something would happen—I shouldn't have gone—No, I __had__ to go—I should have taken her with me!—But the Mahyt—_

With a vicious twist he reined in his own thoughts, forcing himself to think rationally: a quick sweep of the smoke-saturated room with human eyes proved that it was, indeed, empty, but that the structure itself seemed unharmed—the burning smell came from a small pile of still-warm ashes in the corner, which trailed a thin wisp of smoke. The window had probably been open to let the room air out.

But that was unimportant. Alys was _gone._

Eyes growing dark and cold, Selendrile opened the door and went out into the quiet hall, then crept down the back stairs, towards the west side of the inn—where Drusilla Hampton and her husband slept.

* * *

There are very few things more frightening than being woken up in the middle of the night by an angry dragon standing over you, even if said dragon is in human form—even if you are not entirely certain that said dragon actually _is _a dragon. Fortunately for Edward Hampton, getting nearly stabbed to death by someone you thought you could trust is one of those things—and he'd already used up most of his supply of terror for the week.

He blinked up at glittering purple eyes as their owner growled quietly, "Where. Is. Alys," the tone making it a demand instead of a question. A pause, then, "You would have called her 'Julie'."

Very slowly, making certain not to jostle his still-sleeping wife, Mr. Hampton sat up. "Come with me," he said softly, slipping out from under the covers and moving towards the door. The young (was he _naked_?), long-haired man followed wordlessly.

Edward led him out to the dining room—where he took down two chairs from where they were stashed out of the way on top of the tables, setting them facing each other a few feet apart—then took a seat, gesturing for the other man to do the same; the gesture was ignored as amethyst eyes fixed on his face, which was ghastly pale in the faint dawn light that was starting to filter in through the windows.

"Where is Alys?" the man repeated.

Now, Edward Hampton was many things—but ungrateful he was not, and the girl that many of his neighbors would now spit at the mention of and call '_witch_' or '_monster_' had undoubtedly saved his life with her strange blood-hoodoo. He was aware of this, and unlike his neighbors, he didn't really care much what methods she had used—only that she'd chosen to save him, even though it gained her nothing. So when the stranger with unknown intentions and allegiances asked him where his savior had disappeared to, Mr. Hampton sighed, braced himself, and met the man's eyes.

"She flew away."

* * *

_**The Day Before:**_

_Alys knew this story—it ended with a witch burning at the stake. Only this time there would be no dragon flying in to save her._

The crowd was steadily increasing in size, and the buzz of conversation grew louder as information was relayed to the newcomers—Alys could tell each time when the word 'witch' was uttered because of the angry and suspicious glares sent her way: the same looks that the villagers at St. Toby's had given her before they condemned her to the dragon . . . to the fire . . .

Perhaps Gower and Atherton would get the last laugh after all.

She hovered there uselessly, fists clenching and unclenching against her sides, hoping against hope that there would be some change—that history wouldn't repeat itself—but then came the first cry of, "Let's burn her! Burn the witch!" And the cheer of enthusiastic agreement that followed erased any doubt in her mind: she spun on her heel, hurtled over Mr. Hampton's prone form, and ran for her life, the townspeople surging forward in pursuit.

Wooden clogs, Alys decided, were horribly impractical to run in. Shortly after this epiphany her shoes were discarded in the mud and bare feet slapped against the ground with each footstep, gaining distance on her pursuers as she darted into the shadows of the trees that surrounded the town. It was odd; she should have been slow and exhausted and out of breath, but instead she felt strong—fleet and full of energy—as though if she could only find her wings, she'd be able to fly.

Something stirred deep in her chest.

_**::Why are you still falling, Alys?::**_

She stumbled a little at the voice, her head whipping around to find the source—but it was only a phantom, only a memory of a dream—and what was it talking about, anyway? She wasn't falling; she was running away from a bunch of people who wanted to burn her at the stake!

_**::Alys!::**_

Her feet faltered again, but she gritted her teeth and ran on, the screams and shouts of frenzied rage behind her spurring her relentlessly forward.

_**::Have you forgotten what you are?::**_

She missed a step, her eyes going wide as the silver torrent inside of her roared to life—and went tumbling as her foot caught a protruding root, sending her careening into the base of another tree. She only lay there for a moment, dazed and disoriented—but a moment was long enough; by the time she'd stumbled back to her feet, she was surrounded. The occasional snatches of words that she could make out from their muttering made Alys feel sick to her stomach, and the expressions on the faces around her varied from fury to terror to ugly enjoyment, but they all held one thing in common: the desire for her death.

She just didn't feel like indulging them. If only she could fly . . .

_**::Have you forgotten what you are?::**_

_She was glowing in luminescent silver . . ._

"_You're __mine__!"_

_**::Why are you still falling, Alys?::**_

_Bright, golden light sunk deep into her skin, warming her . . ._

_::I am here.::_

_**::Have you forgotten what you are?::**_

_::Why are you crying?::_

_In the ashes of death, life grew . . ._

_**::Why are you still falling?::**_

_She was slipping over the brink, falling into a sea of molten silver. . ._

Alys hissed sharply and doubled over, clutching her head between her hands; her body rippled and shimmered strangely, drawing shouts of alarm from her observers.

"Quick! Stop her! She's doing something—!"

_**::Have you forgotten what you are?::**_

But it was too late.

_**::No. I have not forgotten.::**_

Pain tore through her body, shredding her to pieces and then _remaking _her—and everything shrank.

The whole world seemed to freeze in place for a single shocked moment; then all chaos broke loose. The crowd's malice and anger turned abruptly to white-faced terror, but it wasn't until the would-be witch-hunters started fleeing from her (and wasn't this familiar, too?) and Alys, confused, tried to step forward, that it occurred to her that she was—impossibly enough—sporting claws, teeth and bright gold scales. Not to mention (the new muscles along her shoulders twitched experimentally) wings.

She was a dragon.

* * *

_**Present Time:**_

"She flew away."

Selendrile stiffened, his lips curling slightly to expose his teeth as he snarled. "I have been _patient _with you, human, but I will not put up with your _lies_." The snarl died suddenly—inhumanly beautiful features went suddenly cold and impassive, and he adopted a reasonable tone. "Now, think carefully for a moment. If you have the slightest care for your safety, your wife's safety, or the lives of _any _of the worthless maggots in this _pathetic _little village, then you will _tell me where my Alys is._"

Mr. Hampton's fearful but stubborn expression faded slightly at the last bit, turning curious. ". . . _Your _Alys?"

Selendrile met his gaze evenly. "She is mine to protect—by any means necessary. The only reason that you are not dead at this very moment is that she doesn't seem to like it when I kill humans."

The human gave a hugely relieved sigh, tense muscles suddenly relaxing—and the dragon across from him could only watch in confusion and slight annoyance. His threats didn't normally have that sort of effect.

"She saved my life," Mr. Hampton offered quietly. "I'm not sure what she did, as I was mostly unconscious at the time, but it involved giving me some of her blood—silver blood. Only, somebody saw, and they saw her blood, too—started calling her 'witch'. Last time I saw her she was fleeing from a crowd of villagers—but when they came running back into the village they looked _terrified. _They said . . . they said . . ."

"Said what?"

". . . They said that she had become a monster."

* * *

_**The Day Before:**_

Alys flapped her wings once experimentally, no longer paying the least bit of attention to the fleeing villagers—it wasn't like they were any threat, after all. They hadn't even bothered to arm themselves for going after a single petite human girl, witch or no. Besides, they looked a great deal more insignificant when they were so much smaller than her—it would be rather like feeling threatened by a large group of mice. Scared, running ones.

The body she had now didn't feel unnatural to her—on the contrary, it felt like some sort of indefinable pressure that she hadn't been aware of was finally able to ease, as though her small human form had only expanded into this to accommodate the new energy within her—which, she realized with some surprise, might actually be true. What if a human form _hadn't _been able to handle whatever fey magic Selendrile had passed on to her, and her body had done the only thing it could to survive—changed into a creature that was _built _to handle that sort of thing? It made sense, she supposed.

But . . . she was a _dragon. _The shock was finally starting to set in.

A _dragon._

The maiden-eating, flying, fire-breathing kind. The kind that her people (but they weren't anymore, were they?) feared and hated.

Selendrile's kind.

She didn't attempt to stop the toothy smile from spreading across her draconic features, even knowing from experience how scary it looked from the outside—it wasn't as though there were anybody left around to see, anyway. Then she spread her wings, flapped—once, twice, three times—and launched herself into the air, quickly gaining altitude and rising far, far above the village of Harperton, until the mice-men looked more like ant-men, scurrying madly about in the village streets (probably readying themselves for an attack from her, not that there was any coming). Her body knew what to do; her wings and tail moved smoothly in sync, keeping her even-keeled and moving exactly where she wanted to—almost like she'd flown before.

But she had, hadn't she? If only in dreams . . .

* * *

_**Present Time:**_

When Selendrile finally left _The Laughing Loon, _the sun was rising. A rooster crowed from a pen in someone's backyard, and the telltale noises of a waking village met his keen ears. The groggy, messy-haired boy sweeping the walk glanced sleepily up at him as he walked out into the street, but couldn't seem to muster up the energy to bother to be curious; he just sighed and continued sweeping. By the time he glanced up again, the stranger was gone—and, unknown to its occupants, Harperton had narrowly escaped another dragon's wrath.

* * *

Alys eyed an oblivious herd of deer out of the corner of her eye. In defense of the deer, she was high enough above them that it would be near-impossible for their inferior senses to detect her unless they actually looked up at the sky for some inexplicable reason, but it did make her task harder that they were so _utterly _unsuspecting.

Alys was trying not to hunt. It was harder than it sounded: her body seemed to have consumed an inordinate amount of energy with its first transformation, and now the unfamiliar instincts of a ravenous dragon were urging her to feed herself and wondering _why _she was hesitating when there was a yummy, delicious, appetizing herd of deer_ right there, _while her still all-too-human mentality was rather disgusted by the idea of all the fur and fleas and—above all—_raw meat._ With the discovery that she seemed unable to shift back to human form, her usual victuals weren't an option, and her voracious dragon appetite was becoming more insistent by the moment that she satisfy it. About to turn an about-face and rid herself of the temptation rather than just give in (the latter which would probably be easier, but—gross), Alys suddenly stalled in mid-turn, head high, nostrils flaring, and heart pounding excitedly.

There was a speck of glistening gold in the western sky . . . and there weren't many flying things of that particular shade. Filled suddenly with hope and excitement and fear and, _It's him! Isn't it? It's Selendrile! He really came back! I think . . ._ Alys was shooting as fast as she could towards the distant fragment of gold almost before her mind had registered the impulse to do so. As they drew closer and closer together it became obvious that the other form was indeed another dragon—and when they were closer still, that it was Selendrile. Even when her eyes were still uncertain with morning's light behind her, her sensitive nose had no doubt: she hadn't even realized that she knew what Selendrile smelled like, but her nose insisted that this was _Selendrile's _scent, so she must have. Of course, her new draconic body was also declaring things like, _Mine! _and, _Go hunt yourself some food, idiot! _so perhaps listening to it wasn't the best idea after all.

To prevent a midair collision, they each moved to land once the distance between them reached about one hundred yards (most dragons didn't do hovering very well, with the exception of a couple extremely small breeds, so that wasn't really an option), Alys setting down just moments after Selendrile did. But by the time she was actually on the ground he had sidled up right next to her, and she froze instinctively as he leaned forward abruptly and sniffed at her—then gave a satisfied-sounding snort.

_::You don't smell hurt,:: _Selendrile's voice said.

Alys blinked. She could've sworn . . . _::Did you just __talk__?::_

He eyed her, looking vaguely exasperated—though how he managed this in dragon form, Alys couldn't even begin to guess. _::I don't know . . . Did __you__?::_

It occurred to her that he was right—she _had_ asked that, hadn't she? With her mind, somehow. _::I didn't know that dragons could do that,:: _she explained somewhat sheepishly.

He shrugged massive shoulders; then fixed her with a pointed look. _::Yes, well, you wouldn't have known, would you? You were human then, and you certainly never asked me.::_

_::Oh . . . Yeah.:: _She looked awkwardly down at herself, having almost forgotten about the changes to her body. _::You don't seem very surprised.:: _She glanced up sharply, suddenly suspicious, but he just shrugged again.

_::Dastar, a friend that I saw while I was away, suspected that something like this would happen when I explained the situation . . . and I went to Harperton to look for you before coming this way.::_

Knowing Selendrile's pyromaniac tendencies from prior incidents (namely St. Toby's-by-the-Mountain), Alys instantly scanned the horizon before muttering confusedly, _::But I don't see any smoke . . .::_

An amused snort escaped the dragon-youth. _::You plainly have no faith in my self-control. I didn't burn anything, I just asked a few . . . pointed questions.::_

She eyed him. _::Pointed, hmm?::_

_::Pointed,:: _he agreed.

There was a pause where they just looked at each other, Selendrile's amethyst eyes oddly warm and relieved, and Alys suddenly found herself fighting tears. She had been so certain that she would never see him again—albeit subconsciously—that now that he was here, right in front of her, she could hardly bring herself to believe that it was real. The impossibility of the situation in general didn't help matters.

But, speaking of which . . . _::I can't change back,:: _she admitted, breaking the silence.

Selendrile's eyes narrowed slightly. _::You're stuck in dragon form? . . . What have you tried so far?:: _

_::I don't really know what I'm doing,:: _Alys told him helplessly. _::The original change was mostly involuntary. I've just been trying to will myself back into human form, but obviously it hasn't worked.::_

He nodded thoughtfully. _::You're almost right. You just have to be more . . . specific. It should be fairly easy for you since you've experienced being a human before—usually the hardest part of shape-shifting is imagining what it is like to actually __be__ a completely foreign creature. You won't have that problem. Just remember how it felt before—the way you moved, the way your voice sounded when you spoke . . . the feel of bare skin and being land bound . . . running on two feet instead of—::_

Alys closed her eyes and _remembered_ for all she was worth—and Selendrile's voice cut off in midsentence. Her eyes snapped back open in surprise, but then she felt the brush of hair around her shoulders and the feel of bare feet pressed into the damp moss beneath her—and realized that she was human again. "It worked!" she exclaimed, surprised despite herself—then she noticed Selendrile's amused expression and realized something else. Her face flushed pink.

"Selendrile! Turn around! I'm not wearing any clothes!"

* * *

As it turned out, the villagers had destroyed Alys' belongings, perhaps believing them to be contaminated by dark magic or some such—that was what the smoke in her room at the inn had been from. Apparently no one had been willing to pick up her stuff and carry it outside to be burned—although the gold had gone conveniently missing. Selendrile hoped viciously that it _would _bring the thieves bad luck: they'd certainly deserve it.

Still, Alys had been adamant and he hadn't felt like being stubborn—so it wasn't much later that he came loping into an unremarkable clearing in human form, wearing a pair of loose breeches and carrying a dress that looked about Alys' size, snatched off of a drying line, and a burlap sack with various foodstuffs in it. He waited for a moment in the center of the clearing, then sighed and closed his eyes. "You can come out now," he informed the air in a bored tone. "I'm not looking, see?"

Soft footsteps approached cautiously; then the dress was snatched out of his hands, followed by a hurried rustling as it was pulled on as quickly as possible—then an, "Eeep!" and a thump as Alys apparently lost her balance in her hurry and toppled to the ground. One amethyst eye opened just a slit, eyeing the girl sprawled at his feet with bemusement.

"I did that on purpose," she declared, scowling up at him. "And you're not supposed to have your eyes open yet!"

"But you're dressed now," Selendrile pointed out, his eyes opening fully as he looked at her.

With great dignity, Alys got to her feet and brushed herself off. "Well, yes. But _you _didn't know that, now did you?"

"Yes I did. I could hear."

A glare was directed at him. "It's the principle of the matter."

He just looked at her, a smile tugging at his lips. This was what he had returned to—what he would return to as long as the option was available to him.

Alys was home.

"How would you feel about coming with me to meet my family?"

Her glare gave way to a wide-eyed expression. "Your _family_?"

He nodded calmly. "Yes, my family. And Dastar," he added as an afterthought.

Her mouth opened and shut soundlessly for a moment before she seemed to latch on to the only part of that sentence that wasn't beyond comprehension. "Who's Dastar? You mentioned him before." And something about the name was naggingly familiar . . .

"A friend," replied Selendrile promptly. "He's my clan's unofficial librarian—curious about _everything_, but humans especially, seeing as he takes on their shape most of the time. Considering his profession, it's only practical."

"Oh." She frowned. "Dragons have librarians?"

A vaguely irritated glance was flicked her way. "Obviously." When she only sighed at him, rolling her eyes, he clarified: "Not usually—most dragon clans are migratory and wouldn't have a place to keep the books anyway. However, the Golden Dragon Clan has a set dwelling place, and enough books have been gathered up and looted over the years that a library became necessary, yes. It has been difficult to keep a steady librarian, however, because most dragons—even the studious ones—aren't willing to spend the requisite amount of time in human form. Dastar has been the only one for hundreds of years."

Alys was still frowning, though, deep in thought—she'd heard that name before _somewhere; _she was _certain _of it—and then it came to her, and she gasped, remembering:

[Excerpt from _Chapter 7: Something Silver_]

"_I am afraid, Dastar."_

_A woman was speaking, though Alys couldn't discern where from. Sound echoed strangely through the dusty corridors of books, making it impossible to judge where the voice originated from. _

"_Are you?" a male voice, this time—sounding genuinely curious as to the answer to his question. "Why?" _

_A sigh. "Trust you to have to ask that. It's . . . Well, I suppose that I'm afraid of what I will become. I won't be just Liadan anymore . . . I will be the Mahyt. What if . . . what if I lose who I am? You know, I don't even know my own grandmother's name. Even when I was a child I never addressed her as anything other than Mahyt—as though she were nothing more than a title, with no personality underneath. Will I . . . become like that, after the Changeover?"_

_Alys could only listen in growing confusion as the second voice snorted indignantly. "Well. That's a terribly silly thing to be worried about. If you weren't you, then you wouldn't be you, would you? If you are the Mahyt, then you shall be the Mahyt. If the Mahyt is not you, then you will not be the Mahyt. What is there to fear?"_

_A pause—then a quiet huff of amusement. "You know . . . that's not comforting at all."_

"_I was supposed to be comforting you?" He sounded utterly baffled._

[End Excerpt]

"I had a dream about him," Alys commented rather dazedly, eyes wide and unseeing.

The dragon-youth glanced at her sharply. "What?"

"He was in my dream!" she insisted, turning to face him abruptly. "He was talking to someone named Liadan about the Changeover and becoming Mahyt—I thought that it was only my subconscious making things up from what you'd told me before you left, but . . . what if it wasn't? What if what I saw was real?" Her voice grew quieter and quieter as she spoke; the last question was hardly more than a whisper. She gazed at Selendrile with something like desperation, searching for a lifeline—and he gave it to her.

Rather than telling her that yes, it was most certainly real—that he had met Liadan, and there was no way that Alys could have any idea who she was—he just murmured soothingly, taking a single step closer, "It's alright, Alys—it's alright. Even if it really did happen, it was only a dream; it can't hurt you, can it?"

She looked up at him—then, surprising him, closed the distance between them, letting her eyes slip shut and relaxing against his chest with a sigh. He was suddenly reminded of Liadan sheltering against Dastar, the older dragon's wings around her like a shield—and without conscious thought he imitated the gesture, bringing his arms up around Alys' back and resting his hands there gently. When he glanced down at her face she was smiling slightly, eyes still closed.

"You're right," she said. "Thank you."

Something tugged painfully at his chest—and he awkwardly looked away, focusing on the trees over her shoulder. ". . . You're welcome."

* * *

**AN: The 'she flew away' was my tip of the hat to Ladyhawke—amazing movie, no one should deprive themselves of watching it. Don't forget to review before you go! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**

**P.S. Seriously. Review. I haven't gotten any reviews for the last two updates, so... review.**


	11. Chapter 11: First Impressions

**Chapter 11:****  
First Impressions**

Amethyst eyes blinked open sleepily, their owner taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of warm lethargy in his limbs. The sunless evening sky provided no warmth, but the flame inside of him was, as ever, more than sufficient to make up for the lack. Alys called it unfair . . . Selendrile rarely dignified that with a response.

Glancing lazily around from under heavy-lidded eyes, the dragon-youth was halted in his tracks by confusion as his gaze landed on a peculiar sight: Alys was crouched down next to an old, decomposing log, staring intensely at the frog perched atop it.

The frog stared back, its limpid, yellow-rimmed eyes unblinking.

"What's it like to be you?" Alys pondered aloud as Selendrile watched incredulously, resting her chin on one hand without breaking the stare-off. "I'm having a hard time imagining. You seem like a damp, warty sort of fellow . . ."

Alys, decided Selendrile, should plainly not be left unsupervised for long periods of time. He noiselessly shifted into human form and stood. "Alys? . . . What are you doing?"

She sat up immediately, tearing her gaze away from the frog and attempting to look as innocent as possible. ". . . Nothing?" But a quick, guilty glance in the frog's direction gave her away.

His gaze followed hers. "You were having a staring contest with an amphibian?"

"I wasn't!" she protested immediately—then admitted, ". . . I was trying to shape-shift. You're right—it's really hard. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to be a frog."

"You shouldn't bother," he informed her, walking closer and bending to peer at the recent object of Alys' concentration. "It will likely take many years of training and practice before your mind is flexible enough to allow you to shift into more than two or three forms, even with Dastar's help." He straightened, adding, "And that's a toad."

Alys opened her mouth to reply—then closed it again, eyeing the frog—toad—suspiciously. "Are you sure? It looks like a frog to me."

He snorted, said, "Of _course,_" like it was the most obvious thing in the world and she was terribly silly for thinking otherwise, then shifted forms before she could argue, causing the toad—frog?—to croak in alarm and hop hastily away.

Alys grinned, unperturbed, and followed Selendrile's lead. For once she would—quite literally—be bearing her own weight. She could hardly wait to fly again.

* * *

_::I'm supposed to be a shapechanger?:: _Alys repeated the unfamiliar word a little nervously as she flew in the wake of Selendrile's considerably larger form. _::Not that I know exactly what that is, but the name is sort of self-explanatory . . . and I thought you said that I wouldn't be able to change forms yet? How am I supposed to explain that if someone asks?:: _

Selendrile didn't sound particularly concerned. _::Your human form should be enough to placate any uncertainties. The only other species that has any sort of shape-shifting capability is my kind—the golden dragons—and these days we are so few that unknown members of our kind are virtually nonexistent. It should not occur to anyone to doubt.::_

_::Shouldn't,:: _muttered Alys. _::I'd rather it was 'couldn't.'::_

Selendrile was silent for a moment. Then he said slowly, _::Even in the unlikely event that you are discovered, you need not fear. Humans are not well-liked among my kind, but that does not mean that you would be attacked without provocation. And,:: _a slight, almost imperceptible hesitation, _::anyone who did would soon come to regret it.:: _

_::Oh?:: _she inquired, both amused and a little touched. _::You'd defend me, then?:: _

He snorted. _::I very much doubt that I would have to.::_

She blinked, momentarily surprised, then tried to force down the bubbling happiness that suddenly welled in her chest. That was right, wasn't it? She was no longer the small, soft, comparatively weak human—she could hold her own, now, in a battle against a dragon. Assuming, she amended as she glanced back up at Selendrile's much larger form, that she wasn't the dragon version of a midget.

_::Right,:: _she said, still sounding overly pleased with herself, a fact which she immediately tried to conceal by quickly continuing in a more serious tone. _::Tell me more about shapechangers.::_

_::I do not know much,:: _Selendrile admitted. _::I've only met a shapechanger once to my knowledge, and that only in passing. They generally prefer to stick to the warmer southern climates, so our species' paths do not intersect often. It's hard to tell what size population they have simply because of their nature. They blend in so well that, barring exceptional circumstances, the only way to know if a creature is actually a shapechanger is if the shapechanger itself chooses to tell you, which they rarely do.:: _He paused, then added a bit wryly, _::Presumably, anyway. All shifters are technically genderless, but most choose to take a female form, since as a female any children they bear will be shapechangers as well, regardless of the species of the sire. Their shifting ability is much like mine—ours—but comes more easily to shapechangers, and unlike my kind, they can also switch between genders and change into inanimate objects.:: _

Selendrile fell silent, and eventually Alys realized that he was finished. _::Thanks,:: _she said, doing her best to commit the information to memory. Then, angling her wings so that with each beat she swooped lazily from side to side, she asked idly, _::How long does it take to get to your clan's ancestral home, anyway?::_

He tilted his head, considering. _::At this speed, and assuming that we stop to rest at night? About three days. Perhaps less.::_

Alys frowned slightly, not having expected it to be so long. _::. . . Will we __need__ to stop and rest? You'd know better than I, since you've, well, been a dragon for longer.::_

_::I did not sleep for several days before my journey back to you,:: _he replied.

Alys, thinking back, nodded—then realized that he couldn't see the motion and murmured, _::Right. And then you had to rest for almost a full day to recover. So . . . we stop maybe once, instead of every night?:: _she phrased it as a question, still uncertain of her assessment.

_::That should be fine,:: _he agreed. There was an odd tone in his voice that made her look suspiciously at him, though, and her wariness was proven justified when he added dryly after a moment, _::But I suspect that your wings will not thank you.::_

* * *

The snowy northern peaks were like nothing Alys had ever seen before. They seemed to glow in the dull orange light of sunset as though the illumination came from beneath, rather than being only reflected.

_::Beautiful,:: _she breathed. _::Isn't it amazing?::_

_::I suppose,:: _said Selendrile. Alys, getting the impression that she was only being humored, rolled her eyes at his back and fell silent again.

They had been flying for two nights and two days, with only a single stop for rest. Alys hadn't complained, since it had been her idea in the first place, but at this point she was very tired and the muscles of her shoulders burned sharply with every movement. Luckily they were almost at their destination, or so Selendrile told her, and there they would be able to rest as long as they needed. She hated to sleep, though, when there was so much to see—a whole world of strange and thrilling new sights.

She was so busy looking and marveling that she almost missed Selendrile's abrupt dive and curt, _::Keep close.:: _She had to hastily correct her course to follow him.

_::We're here?:: _she asked, eyeing the yawning chasm beneath them with trepidation. It was very dark, even to dragon eyes, and they seemed to be headed right for it. Selendrile did not answer, but his continued descent was answer enough. He hurtled without hesitation into the dark with Alys at his heels.

What followed was one of the most disorienting experiences of Alys' young life. Unable to see even her own claw in front of her, the twisting, chaotic passages that Selendrile led her down were incomprehensible to her confused senses. If it hadn't been for his guidance she would have been hopelessly lost in the maze. When she was finally led back into the light she heaved a thankful sigh, relieved beyond measure.

_::You might have __warned __me,::_ she scolded halfheartedly, too relieved that it was over to be truly annoyed. There was a peculiar buzzing in her ears, like the sound of distant, indistinguishable voices, but she shook her head and ignored it.

_::I did warn you,:: _he told her, slowing to a near-stall as they entered an enormous open cavern. _::I said 'stay close'.::_

Alys would probably have protested, but she wasn't listening anymore; she'd just spotted the Silver Tree. _::Whoa.::_ The mountains had been _nothing _compared to this.

_::Yes,:: _agreed Selendrile. He sounded smug enough that she dragged her eyes away from the sight before her to glare at him—but her efforts were wasted; he was looking admiringly at the Tree and didn't even notice.

She sighed. _::So, where are we going?::_

_::This way,:: _he said, heading at a brisk pace across the center of the cavern, towards the distant opposite end. Alys wings complained, but she followed suit.

When they reached the other side Selendrile settled gently on the lip of the entrance of one of the numerous offshoot caves leading off of the main cavern, identical to the ones surrounding it to Alys' eyes. Selendrile obviously knew where he was going, though, immediately moving further into the tunnel and allowing Alys room to land as well.

_::Where are we going?:: _she repeated cautiously, moving up to walk beside him in the broad tunnel.

He paused. _::Home.::_

A distant shout suddenly echoed from around the bend in front of them, startling Alys into jumping in alarm and flapping her wings in an aborted takeoff. She settled down quickly, however, feeling sheepish at Selendrile's sardonic look. _::Sorry. Was that . . .?::_

_::My sister,:: _he explained. _::Sashenka.::_

While Alys was busy being surprised—he had a sister, too?— they rounded the corner. The other two occupants of the cavern stopped talking immediately, turning to view them with wide eyes. Then the smaller one leaped up excitedly from her resting position.

_::Selendrile!:: _she shouted, bounding forward excitedly to greet him.

Said dragon-youth stoically bore her enthusiasm. _::Sashenka.::_ He nodded toward the other dragon, who watched with a bright, fond expression. _::Mother.::_

_::You came back!:: _the smaller, violet-eyed dragon said happily, and there was enough astonished pleasure in the words that Alys looked sharply at Selendrile, wondering why exactly his return warranted such surprise.

_::Yes, he did,:: _agreed the older dragon. _::Welcome back, Selendrile.:: _Then she turned to Alys, pale eyes curious. _::You are Alys, I presume?:: _Alys nodded, trying her best to appear friendly, and the dragon smiled. _::I'm Ariana, Selendrile's mother.::_

_::And I'm his sister, Sashenka!:: _chimed in the smaller one, grinning hugely. Of course, seeing as she was a dragon it wasn't exactly a reassuring expression, but Alys appreciated the sentiment.

_::It is a pleasure to meet you,:: _Ariana finished, not skipping a beat.

_::Nice to meet you too,:: _Alys greeted honestly, relaxing considerably at the warm welcome. Perhaps Selendrile's family wouldn't be so intimidating after all. After Faolán she'd been rather apprehensive, but it seemed that her fears were groundless.

_::How was your flight?:: _Ariana asked Selendrile politely, but Sashenka snorted.

_::They're still alive, aren't they? I'm sure it was fine,:: _she said dismissively. Then she grinned again. _::What I want to do is get to know Alys! Have some girl time! If my brother actually tolerates you, you must be pretty awesome.::_

Alys was startled into a laugh; even Selendrile looked vaguely amused.

_::And where shall I be during all this?:: _he asked.

_::Well,:: _teased Sashenka, _::you could go let Dad and Faolán know you're back, or something. They went hunting together. Mom says that they're 'bonding', but, you know . . . it's __Dad__. And __Faolán__.::_ She said this last as though it explained everything—and apparently, judging by Selendrile's understanding nod and Ariana's reproving expression but lack of protest, it did.

_::I see,:: _said Selendrile dryly. _::As you wish, then.::_ Alys, wide-eyed (however friendly Selendrile's family seemed, they were still more or less strangers), watched him leave with trepidation.

Her nervousness turned out to be not entirely unfounded, for the moment Selendrile was most definitely out of earshot the two other females turned on her with eager expressions.

_::Spill!:: _demanded Sashenka.

Alys blinked. _::. . . I'm sorry?::_

_::We're curious,:: _Ariana interceded gently with an exasperated glance at her daughter. _::How long have you known Selendrile? How did you meet? Why is it that you enjoy living among humans? Tell us about yourself,:: _she prompted, expression encouraging.

_::What she said,:: _Sashenka agreed.

Alys panicked for a brief moment—she hadn't prepared for this, she didn't have a back-story, what could she say? She certainly couldn't tell the truth! But then she realized that maybe . . . with just a bit of tweaking . . . she could.

_::Well,:: _she began cautiously, _::It's sort of a long story. Are you sure you would like to hear it?:: _

_::Yes!:: _said Sashenka emphatically. Ariana nodded in agreement, looking just as curious.

Alys smiled. _::It started not-quite six months ago, when I was posing as a human in a town called Saint Toby's-by-the-Mountain. I owned a tin-smithing shop there—a place to work metal—but Gower, the human who owned the land beside mine, was jealous of my prosperity . . .::_

As Alys spun her tale, slightly edited but mostly a true recounting of events, her audience was rapt before her, so caught in the twists of the story that they could not seem to tear their attention from it—not even to recall that they had just _seen _Selendrile, completely whole and healthy, and so obviously he must have survived his experience unscathed. They gasped and paled in the appropriate places and laughed in others, and when Alys finally drew the story to a close with the triumphant retelling of her rescue and subsequent escape from St. Toby's, Sashenka and Ariana reveled in the victory with her.

_::I still think that Selendrile should have eaten that horrible Gower,::_ Sashenka commented darkly.

_::Sashenka, don't say such things!:: _gasped Ariana. _:: . . . You wouldn't want your brother to get indigestion, would you?:: _Both dragons snickered, and even Alys couldn't help but grin slightly.

_::He did burn down the shop, at least,:: _she offered sheepishly. _::Considering that I had made him promise not to eat anyone, that's good enough, don't you think?:: _

_::No,:: _said Sashenka promptly, _::it's not. Not at all. But there's nothing we can do about it now, I suppose.:: _

Ariana was looking thoughtful about something, though. Presently she said, _::You're a wonderful storyteller, Alys, but as thrilling as your tale was, you still haven't explained how exactly you and Selendrile came to stay together. What made you decide not to part ways once your adventure was through?::_

_::Well,:: _said Alys slowly, _::I guess . . . because he asked me to.::_

Ariana blinked in astonishment as Sashenka, far less subtle, gasped, _::He actually admitted to wanting to spend time with you? You're kidding! How on earth did that happen?::_

_::We were discussing where I would go next when he just, out of the blue, comes out with, "Or you could stay with me." I was just as surprised as you are, believe me.:: _Even more than they knew, she thought dryly. After all, it was one thing for a dragon to grow fond of and befriend a shapechanger—it was another thing entirely for one to willingly bind itself to a human.

_::And you said yes,:: _Ariana murmured.

Alys nodded.

_::Why?::_

Completely blindsided by the question, Alys' mind promptly went blank. _::I—um, that is—Uh . . .::_

_::I see,:: _said Ariana quietly; knowingly.

However, before Alys was able to ask what exactly it was that Ariana thought she saw (Sashenka, too, judging by the look of dawning comprehension on her face), the sound of scraping claws on the tunnel outside heralded the return of Selendrile, presumably with his father and brother.

Alys' hazel eyes darted up to the mouth of the cave just in time to meet a pair of deep black ones—surprising her, since she had been under the impression until now that dragons' eye colors were inevitably bright and unnaturally colored. Not that black was natural, by any means, but if she squinted and tilted her head just right she could almost pretend that it was just a really, really dark brown. It just couldn't compete with lavender and amethyst and maroon.

His face was rigid—expressionless—the way she might have imagined a dragon's face _should _look like, if they'd been mindless beasts the way she had once thought. Selendrile and Faolán came in behind him, but their presence barely registered as she received the inexplicable but undeniable impression that she was being weighed and measured by cold obsidian eyes—and, she felt certain, found wanting.

_::You must be Selendrile's father,:: _she said. Oddly enough, she found his obvious, cold disdain far easier to deal with than Ariana and Sashenka's rather aggressive friendliness or Faolán's shameless, shudder-inducing objectification. Dislike she could handle; dislike was simple, easy. Not pleasant, perhaps, but well within her comfort zone.

Alys, confident once more, smiled.

* * *

**AN: Don't forget to review! C:**

**~Killer Zebra**

**P.S. I **_**do **_**still have the old version if anyone wants it. Can't imagine why you would, but there you go. **


	12. Chapter 12: The Promise

**Chapter 12:  
****The Promise**

"_Drink. Live. Please, I can save you!" _

_She was kneeling—whispering desperate pleas at Edward Hampton's side. This was… the past. It had already happened. But her voice sounded different than how she remembered it—each whisper had an echo of a thousand voices, countless tones blending and swelling until the soft words became more like shouts—a crescendo of, __**"I can save you!"**_

_Warm red lifeblood pumped out under her trembling hands. He was dying, still._

"_Drink. Live." _

_I can save you. _

_There was a flash of brilliant white—she flinched away and flung an arm over her eyes, shielding them. When the light dimmed, she lowered her arm again—and Mr. Hampton stared in horror at his own silver-lit hands. _

"_What am I?" he asked, voice soft and unsteady._

_She felt pity; thought that perhaps she should apologize. She knew how it felt, after all, to be the one speaking those frightened words. But she had given him the choice, and he'd chosen to live. He could have refused. _

_When she answered his question, though, it was the echoes speaking—the sentiment was certainly not hers, though it was her lips that formed the words and her breath that breathed them. _

"_**I gave you life. You are mine."**_

* * *

Alys shuddered and opened her eyes.

_What was that?_

It had felt like one of the strange dreams that she'd been having more and more often recently—the ones full of strange significance and knowledge of things that she had never learned; the ones she suspected were connected to her foreknowledge. This one, though . . . this one was even odder than normal. The event in her dreams were always unsettling—but this one touched a nerve that none of the others had because always before, she had been herself in the dream—untouched by the surreal, impossible happenings. In this one she had been more than that—so much more. A channel—a voice for something so far beyond her limited mortal experience that she could scarcely comprehend its existence.

It had felt like more than just a dream.

It was still far too early for her to get up. The quiet breathing and warm, solid presence of Selendrile beside her was reassuring—felt safe—enough that her rushing pulse slowed and she realized with a yawn that, really, she was far too tired to worry about possible prophetic visions at the moment. She closed her eyes, concentrated on Selendrile's comforting proximity, and allowed herself to drift back into sleep.

She had no more dreams.

* * *

_::Are all these caves filled?:: _Alys inquired the next morning as she and Selendrile flapped across the central cavern on their way to visit Dastar. She was gazing around in astonishment at the myriad of tunnels that scattered the walls of the cavern, thinking that if even half of them were occupied, there were a lot more dragons in the world than she had ever suspected.

_::No,:: _he snapped.

Alys frowned at the harsh tone, speeding up to fly beside him and look at his expression, which was, predictably, unreadable. But he'd given himself away before, and she wasn't about to let it go—not when he was so obviously upset. _::Hey. What's wrong?::_

He stiffened and seemed to gather himself for an off-putting retort, but then looked at her concerned expression and sighed, the fight going out of him. _::A few dozen are occupied, perhaps.:: _It sounded like a confession.

Alys was stunned. _::That's all? But . . .::_

_::We're dying, Alys—the golden dragons.:: _He shrugged like it was nothing as she looked on in helpless distress. _:: Our population is growing smaller and smaller as the years pass—soon there'll be none left at all.:: _

For a moment Alys was swamped with grief—more than just pity, more than just the distant horror that she had felt before—the grief of a thousand hearts, a thousand voices behind her, speaking through her, shouting so loud that the roaring in her ears made her blind and dizzy—

_**WE CAN SAVE YOU!**_

She gasped, shaking her head violently, and her vision cleared. When she looked around, she saw a group of young dragons on the ground below her, near the base of the Silver Tree, their wings still mostly small and useless, folded against their backs. There were dozens of them; the two adult dragons that seemed to be in charge had their hands full keeping an eye on them all. The little ones frolicked and bounced happily, tumbling about and playfully biting at each other; a few of the older ones used their developing wings to their advantage to gain a few feet of height and tackle their playmates below.

Alys' all-consuming grief retreated at the sight; the voices fell silent, and she sighed in relief, closing her eyes. When they opened again the cavern was empty once more save for herself and Selendrile, but she retained that feeling of contentment and peace. The terrible sadness that she had felt was no more, replaced by an upwelling of hope and quiet gladness. She knew—_knew, _yes, was absolutely, unnaturally certain—that the slow death that Selendrile spoke of would not come to pass.

_::How rare are dragon children, exactly?:: _she asked thoughtfully.

_::Very,:: _Selendrile informed her grimly. He descended to alight on the edge of a cave mouth, Alys close behind. _::My family is an anomaly. These days, to have even five successful births in as many centuries is considered fortunate.::_

_::It won't always be that way,:: _murmured Alys, thinking of a Tree full of life with a multitude of happy dragonets playing at its foot. _::This place will be filled with children again.::_

Selendrile looked searchingly at her as he shrank, his scales melting away to be replaced by smooth skin. "What makes you say that?"

She waited until his back was turned, then shape-shifted herself and pulled on a dress from her pack, which she then leaned against the tunnel wall. "I just know. Trust me."

He spun around, eyes widened ever-so-slightly in surprise. "You . . . _know_?"

It seemed a simple question on the surface, but Alys saw the incredulous hope reflected in his eyes and knew what he was really asking. "Yes," she assured him fearlessly, confident that her faith was justified. "I _know._"

Selendrile, his eyes suddenly wild, took a short, almost violent step in her direction, his arms reaching out towards her before abruptly dropping back to his sides as he turned away. She stood there silently, stunned by the strength of his reaction; this was _Selendrile, _who hardly smiled, let alone revealed such depth of emotion as this.

After a moment he said simply, "Thank you," astonishing Alys all over again.

Still, she managed a, "You're welcome," in reply, and he nodded acknowledgement, turned, and strode down the tunnel.

* * *

The library, with its eerily familiar maze of shelves and redolence of old leather and parchment, brought with it a strong sense of déjà vu. Alys kept close to Selendrile's side as he easily navigated the confusing twists and turns of the place, her eyes darting to and fro as she took everything in. Once, her fingers reached out to brush against the spines of the books they passed. She wondered if perhaps Dastar would mind letting her come in here to read sometimes; she hadn't had the chance to do any reading since her father died, what with her and Selendrile's nomadic lifestyle. She was about to ask Selendrile his opinion when they turned one final corner and came upon a cozy little alcove containing a huge, cluttered oak desk, several squashy red armchairs, and two people. One, a wiry, compact little man with large, bright yellow eyes and wispy, white-specked ginger hair cut short, was seated behind the desk, scowling at the manuscript in his hands, while the other, an older woman with a soft, round face and long dark hair, was curled up in one of the armchairs, apparently asleep. Neither acknowledged the intrusion into their peaceful little domain.

Selendrile cleared his throat softly, and though the male dragon—presumably Dastar—did not appear to react, the female's eyes snapped open immediately and darted towards the source of the noise. Those eyes met Selendrile's first, then moved to Alys, whose first thought was shock at their bright silver shade, like the ceiling; like the bark of the Tree. Then she inhaled sharply, hazel eyes going wide as they stared into silver—and something deep within her snapped into place, connecting her to the other dragon at some level too basic for conscious understanding. The world seemed to blur and grow intangible around her until all she could see was silver; endless, burgeoning silver like she'd only seen before in dreams.

Then the moment ended, the silver eyes slide away, and Alys shuddered and started to collapse, legs suddenly too weak and unsteady to bear her weight. Selendrile was there to catch her, fortunately, and she leaned gratefully into him, closing her eyes and attempting to calm her tumultuous, confused emotions.

"Alys?" he asked, and if she hadn't known him so well she would never have detected the worry in his voice.

"I'm okay," she said, sighing and tentatively testing out her legs again. They seemed to be steadier than before, anyway, but she allowed Selendrile to continue supporting her as she regained her feet.

The silver-eyed woman, sounding nearly as dazed as Alys felt, murmured, "I . . . what just happened?"

"Liadan? Are you alright?" Dastar, unlike Selendrile, appeared unafraid to show his concern. His manuscript was abandoned without a second thought as he rushed to Liadan's side and knelt there, taking her face gently between his hands and looking carefully into her eyes. For a moment she let him, but then she pulled away and straightened, her vaguely stunned expression fading as she looked around at Alys once more.

"_You,_" she said. "What are you?"

Selendrile stiffened slightly, his grip tightening in warning. Alys remembered what he'd said—that humans weren't well-liked here, that she should keep her true origins secret—but for some reason that she didn't care to pinpoint, the idea of lying to this woman was unthinkable. "I . . . I'm not sure. I was human, once, but not anymore."

At once Selendrile tensed, shifting slightly as though preparing to run and keeping his eyes fixed on Liadan, but the silver-eyed dragon only glanced up at him and shook her head.

"Peace, Selendrile," she said quietly. "I don't know how, but she is one of mine—one of ours. I could not harm her even if I wished to."

Selendrile's eyes remained hooded and wary until Alys tugged at his arm and, once she had his attention, whispered, "It's alright." Only then did he finally, reluctantly, relax, giving Liadan a terse nod.

Dastar, his concerns apparently alleviated, now wore an expression of dawning excitement. "You mean she actually formed a Mahyt bond? By the name of the Silver Tree, this is incredible!" He paused, then added thoughtfully, "Not that the Silver Tree actually has a name . . . just a title. If it ever did have one, it's been lost to time. But for the purposes of—" He cut off abruptly as three identical stares of exasperation were leveled at him. "Right, sorry. Alys, since Selendrile actually brought you here I assume that you've learned how to assume dragon shape. When exactly did this happen? Could you describe the experience to me?" As he spoke he moved over to rifle through one of the drawers of his desk, then gave a triumphant exclamation after a moment and pulled out a blank piece of parchment, an inkpot, and a rather sad-looking quill.

Liadan, though, was frowning. "You knew about this, Dastar?"

The hawk-eyed dragon grew abruptly serious, his head bowing apologetically. "Yes. I would have said something, except, well, Selendrile would have been angry with me for sharing his secrets. And he is quite unpleasant when he is angry."

Dastar's expression was so pathetically woebegone that Alys had to hide a smile; apparently it had the same effect on Liadan, for after a moment she sighed and said, "Alright, I forgive you this time." Before he could be too relieved, though, she warned sharply, "But next time something like this comes up, _tell _me. It might not always be as harmless as this."

When he frowned petulantly, his mouth opening to protest, she added softly, "I need to know that I can trust you," and the words seemed to die on his lips. He nodded wordlessly and she turned away, satisfied. Her gaze landed on Alys, going strangely soft. "Alys?" she said.

"Yes?" replied Alys, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

Liadan smiled, a bit awkward, but reassuring. "I'm sorry if you were frightened earlier, and I want you to know that . . ." she hesitated briefly, "that you are always welcome in my clan. You're one of my people, now—that makes this your home. And I'd like to get to know you better sometime, if you're willing."

Shocked into speechlessness yet again, Alys could only nod. It seemed to please Liadan, though, because her next smile was slightly less awkward; more amused. She dropped a kiss onto Dastar's forehead, gave Selendrile a strangely thoughtful look, and left.

Dastar scratched his head, staring after her. "Well," he said after a moment, "I suppose that now that _that's _out of the way, I can start on Selendrile's embarrassing childhood stories, yes?"

Alys laughed, surprise and relieved tension making her giddy. "Please do, yes! How did you two meet?"

Dastar grinned widely as Selendrile, not even bothering to be subtle about it, went to sulk in one of the squashy armchairs. "Oh, that's a good one! He'd gotten away from his mother, you see, only he hadn't quite mastered flying yet and ended up crash-landing right into my tunnel. Gave himself quite the lump on his little noggin, did Selendrile . . ."

* * *

Later that same day, something terribly unmomentous happened: Alys' stomach growled. She flushed in embarrassment, but Selendrile only glanced over at her curiously.

"I suppose we ought to go hunting," he said.

Alys stared. "Hunting?" she repeated weakly, almost hoping that she'd heard wrong. It had never occurred to her before that here, far from any human settlements, they might have some difficulty procuring human food.

"Yes," he drawled mockingly, "that_ is_ what I said. Would you, perhaps, like me to repeat it again?"

"No, no, that's fine," said Alys hastily. "But really—hunting? Like, animals?"

Selendrile's expression was eloquent enough this time that Alys actually flinched, looking down sheepishly. "Okay, okay, sorry," she said. "Rhetorical question. But you _know _that humans don't eat raw meat. Can we at least cook it first?"

"You aren't human anymore," he pointed out.

She shook her head stubbornly. "Yeah, but I _was._ That's not just going to go away automatically. Can't you just indulge me this once?"

He looked at her for a long moment, but she met his gaze squarely, and when he finally glanced away, looking faintly irritated, she knew that she had won. "I imagine you'll have become accustomed to the idea in a couple decades," he muttered.

She felt smug, but graciously chose not to show it . . . too much. "Well, we'll see about that in a couple decades, now won't we?"

He just shrugged. The lack of verbal confirmation shouldn't have been important—he was never very verbose, after all—but a terrible thought froze her in her tracks, leaving her staring helplessly at his downturned head as her heart ached.

After a moment, he glanced back up, seeming to noticed her unusual silence. He took in her expression, paused, his brow wrinkling slightly, and asked, "Alys? What is it?"

Unable to ask what she truly wanted to, she just looked at him, searching his eyes for the reassurance she sought. "Selendrile," she said slowly, significantly, "We _will_ see about that in a couple decades . . . won't we?" Her voice shook a little despite her best efforts, shaming her with her own weakness.

His expression remained inscrutable; for a moment she thought that he hadn't understood—but then, miraculously, his gaze softened. She waited nervously for his response.

"Perhaps," he said.

She blinked. Wait, what?

* * *

**AN: I always felt bad that in the old version, I basically doomed the golden dragons to extinction for no reason. It felt like a loose end, so I decided to tie it up here. Tada, you're alive! Have lots of babies, live happily ever after. The end. C:  
Let's see… um… It's been a long time since I've updated, I know, and I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting. Updates should be much more frequent now that it's summer.  
Check out the poll on my profile, and don't forget to review!**

**~Killer Zebra**


	13. 13: Unedited

**AN: Hello again! :) Kita Tisharoo pointed out that I accidentally put chapter 3 in place of chapter 13, so I apologize for that minor mishap. It's fixed now. :) Thanks to all my marvelous-ful reviewers! You're da best! :D Oh, and I've decided to start putting dragon- mind-speech into quotation marks, in order to avoid confusion with thoughts. My updates seem to be getting later and later . . . I'm afraid I don't have a real excuse, except that my creative juices just haven't been very active recently. I am sorry though!**

**Disclaimer: Refer to chapters 1-13. Please.**

**Meddling**

_"Lovely,"_ Alys commented dryly, watching Selendrile feed. _"That blood is such a beautiful crimson color . . ."_ Selendrile looked up briefly, his eyes narrowed. "_It may not be the prettiest sight, but it tastes delicious. Which you would __**know**__, if you would just __**try**__ it."_ Alys paced a little closer, sniffing the deer carcass and wrinkling her nose in feigned distaste, trying to ignore how good it smelled. _"You sound like me, trying to get you to eat apples,"_ she said with sudden amusement.

The dragon-youth licked his chops slowly, examining his lithe golden companion. He'd seen the hungry way she assessed his meal; her dragon instincts were showing through her human habits. _"I did try an apple, once,"_ he reminded her. _"It was disgusting." _He shuddered in mock horror.

_"And this will probably taste the same to me,"_ Alys proclaimed, sitting back on her haunches. Selendrile smiled. _"Perhaps. But the least you could do is follow my example and __**try**__ it." _Alys sighed, knowing that he had won. _"What if I like it?"_ she asked plaintively, finally showing the true reason for her reluctance. _"What if it's delicious?"_ The dragon-youth kept a straight face, but his eyes were filled with mirth. _"Then you won't be hungry anymore,"_ he said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

_"I'm going to get fat, and I'm going to be happy,"_ sighed Alys. As Selendrile had predicted, she had taken to dragon cuisine just as readily as she had taken to all the other aspects of dragon life. He wondered idly whether he should bother to inform her that dragons didn't get fat. They were currently walking down the tunnel to Selendrile's family's dwelling, Alys having declared that she was too stuffed to fly more than two feet at a time. (Proving herself wrong when she easily flew from the hunting grounds to the home cavern.)

Selendrile wrinkled his brow, something occurring to him. _"Alys,"_ he said, _"You might not like human food anymore."_ She squeaked, (yes, _squeaked_,) whirling toward him. _"What?!"_ The dragon-youth winced, the mind shriek reverberating within the confines of his skull. _"Well, you're a dragon now . . . You've even bonded with Liadan,"_ he said. _"It seems likely that silver blood won't be the only adjustment your body's made." _Alys released a low, very dragon-ish growl. It made sense. But that didn't mean that she had to be happy about it. _"Lovely. Wonderful. Fantastic,"_ she grumbled. _"You're probably right, as usual."_

_"Of course,"_ agreed Selendrile calmly. _"I'm always right." _He paused for a moment, then, as a precaution, added, _"Usually." _Alys, of course, merely snorted and shook her head at his behavior.

_"You're incredible, you know that?"_ The dragon-girl allowed the immense amusement she was feeling to creep into her tone. He was so outrageous . . . but that was part of why she loved him so much. _"I like to think so,"_ replied Selendrile, his voice as bland as ever. There was something strangely entrancing about this constant back-and-forth banter they shared, he thought. What would happen if he randomly decided to say something without the slightest trace of sarcasm? Well, there was only one way to find out . . .

_"I hate caves,"_ the dragon-youth said abruptly. **(AN: What did you expect? A soppy love confession? No, Selendrile will be Selendrile, no matter what you or I have to say about it.)** Alys blinked. _"You . . . hate . . . caves," _she said, drawing the words out slowly and distinctly.

_"Isn't that what I just said?"_ Selendrile asked mildly. _"Well yes,"_ conceded Alys, _"but I can't help but wonder what brought on this spontaneous burst of cave abhorrence." _He shrugged. _"We're in __a cave, aren't we?" _After a few moments of silence, he continued thoughtfully. _"Perhaps 'hate' is a bit too strong of a term. I merely dislike the confinement of caves, the coldness of them. No matter how much magic you put into the ceiling and walls to make them glow, they're still a poor stand-in for the open sky. No matter how lovely and full of power the Silver Tree is, it still doesn't exude an iota of the health and vibrancy of an ordinary evergreen." _He shut up, a little embarrassed at his own outburst, while Alys stared at him in amazement.

_"Wow,"_ was the only thing she could think of to say. The dragon-youth shrugged. _"I really don't understand why so many dragons live down here_," he said offhandedly. Alys nodded thoughtfully. _"Now that you mention it, neither do I,"_ she agreed. _"It's not like they socialize all that much . . . At least not your family. And with your abilities, it wouldn't be difficult at all to hide yourselves from humans no matter where you lived." _Alys wrinkled her brow; the more she thought about it, the less dragon psyche made sense.

She was about to say as much, when they entered the central dwelling cavern. _Ah. My favorite __person,_ Alys thought, staving off anxiety with sarcasm as she gazed into a pair of alert onyx eyes. Out loud, (well, sort of,) all she said was, _"Hello Fastion."_

She was watching closely, otherwise she would never have spotted it: a flash of amusement in those dark eyes. Her own widened slightly at the unexpected observation. _"Hello Alys, Selendrile_," Fastion replied gravely. Alys was too busy being delighted that the older dragon _wasn't,_ in fact, made of ice, to remember to keep the satisfied smile off her face.

_"Selendrile was just taking me hunting,"_ she offered after a moment of heavy silence. The dragon-youth sent her an enigmatic look. He and his father seemed perfectly content to sit in complete silence, but Alys began to feel uncomfortable after a few more moments of trading blank, meaningless glances. Presently, she attempted once again to fill the air, this time making sure that it was something that required a response. _"Where are Ariana and Sashenka?"_ she queried.

The two large, golden forms shifted and blinked, as though waking from a trance. _"Outside, practicing shifting into different forms,"_ Fastion answered presently. He made no further comment, and Alys was left feeling dissatisfied. She wanted to see something other than impassivity in those eyes again. With some amusement, she recalled feeling the same urge when she first met Selendrile. _Like father like son?_ she wondered to herself. Perhaps some of her thoughts were visible in her expression when she faced Selendrile. In any case, glancing at her, he looked baffled for an instant, then amused and then, behind the amusement-- something else. Something so strong as to be almost frightening. Alys' breath caught, and the dragon-youth looked away abruptly.

_"I have some things I need to talk about with Dastar,"_ he said hurriedly. _"Do you mind if I leave you here for a while, Alys?"_ It was a rhetorical question, of course. _What would happen if I said yes?_ Alys speculated. _But you won't. So what's the point in wondering?_

_"Of course not,"_ she answered blandly. Trying hard not to sound sarcastic, she added, _"I can just stay here and have a nice heart-to-heart chat with your father."_ Her efforts were rewarded by the barest hint of his trademark smirk on Selendrile's features, and something resembling alarm on his father's. With a nod in Alys' direction, and a curious glance toward Fastion, Selendrile exited.

With so much experience at reading Selendrile, Alys knew that the exceptionally blank mask that the black-eyed dragon was wearing at the moment was an indication at how uneasy he was at the prospect of the aforementioned 'heart-to-heart' with Alys. At first it was entertaining, but Alys couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the poor fellow. _"Stop looking so terrified,"_ she finally snapped. _"I was kidding, for goodness sake."_ Fastion glanced up at her sharply, his expression almost shifting to shock before he once again settled it into a expressionless mask. _"Terrified? I'm afraid I don't understand."_

Alys snorted. So this dragon liked his enigmatic persona too . . . _"You forget that I've been __traveling with your son for nearly three months," _she reminded him. _"I've gotten him pretty well puzzled out by now, and many of your mannerisms are similar to his. For example, when your face gets all- um, stiff, and set like that, it means you're either uncomfortable, scared, or trying not to laugh."_ She grinned cheekily, hardly believing her own audacity, but enjoying having the upper hand for once.

Fastion appraised her carefully, his dark eyes thoughtful. With no preamble whatsoever, he said suddenly, _"My son chose wisely. You will make a good life-mate for him."_ Alys blinked, lost once again. Why was it that everyone always assumed that she and Selendrile were _together_? _"I only wish,"_ she said wryly. _"Selendrile has no intentions of that sort toward me."_ It hurt to say it, even though she had come to terms with the fact that she and Selendrile would never be anything more than friends long ago. She couldn't help but daydream, especially after that tantalizing taste of what their life could be in her _true_ dream.

_"And who decided that?"_ Fastion queried. This time, Alys couldn't fathom what his intentions might be. She turned her thoughts to answering his question. Who _had_ decided that? She supposed that no one had actually said it out loud . . . But then again, she'd been very careful never to let any sign of her feelings slip through into their casual banter. She liked to think that she'd been successful, that Selendrile had never had any inkling of what she really dreamed about at night. It would explain why she'd never received the 'can never be more than friends' speech from him.

Realizing that Fastion was still waiting for a reply, Alys finally said, _"No one 'decided.' It's just a given . . . I'm completely ordinary; I just happened to be thrust into extraordinary circumstances. And Selendrile . . ." _It didn't escape Fastion's notice how soft Alys voice went when she spoke the dragon-youth's name, or how her eyes went dreamy and clouded. _"Selendrile is, well, Selendrile,_" the dragon-girl attempted to explain.

_"I see,_" said Fastion dryly. It reminded him rather too much of the situation between him and Ariana, before he finally got the courage to tell her how he felt. If his youngest son was as like him as everyone said, then it wasn't at all unlikely that he felt the same way Alys did, but was just too stubborn to admit it. Perhaps if the obstinate fool had a bit of prompting--

Fastion pulled his thoughts up short, staring at the young female dragon in front of him in amazement. He'd never thought of himself as the matchmaking type; that was Ariana's area of expertise. However, he found himself wanting to help this girl, this woman who loved his son. He realized with a shock that he actually _liked_ her, a phenomenon that occurred so rarely that he hadn't recognized the feeling at first.

_"It's good to see that you have this so well thought out,"_ Fastion said. Alys, quite conspicuously, sulked. It seems that the upper hand had deserted her. She grinned a little at the mental image this presented. _"Thanks,"_ she replied, making sure to keep her mind-voice even-toned and free of guile. _"Your support just overwhelms me."_

It was altogether too easy to come up with a sarcastic retort to the ebony-eyed dragon's sly comments. _Probably because I have so much practice,_ thought Alys distantly. He and his youngest son really were quite alike. Except-- well, like she'd said; Selendrile was just- _Selendrile._

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"I feel a bit guilty for leaving her at the mercy of my father like that," Selendrile admitted to his best friend. Dastar, examining some obscure metal-and-glass contraption that seemed to involve a lot of gears and levers, just smiled in reply. "Alys can take care of herself," he said. His grin grew wider and he chuckled suddenly. "In fact," he said, "I get the feeling that poor Fastion won't know what hit him"

Selendrile was astonished, and baffled. "This is my_ father_ we're talking about here," he reminded the eccentric librarian. "You know, the lump of black ice?" Dastar's face lit up. "Aha!" he declared excitedly. The purple-eyed dragon-youth was a little puzzled, until Dastar's next words clarified things. "I _knew_ I had it right! Take _that, _Book!" He shook his finger gleefully at a thin, (comparatively,) folio sitting open on his desk; there appeared to be some sort of engineering instructions on the page it rested on.

"_Now_ all I have to do is . . ." Selendrile listened with half an ear as Dastar babbled something technological that meant absolutely nothing to him, nodding occasionally and pretending he understood what was being said. The dragon-youth knew from experience that the best thing to do at this point was just to let Dastar talk himself out, and wait for him to return to the real world.

Eventually, that's what happened. Dastar paused to take a breath, then a confused expression overtook his face. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "were you saying something?" Selendrile smiled calmly. "Yes," he confirmed. "I was extolling the virtues of our favorite onyx-eyed dragon." Dastar flinched slightly. "Oh, yes. I remember now." A smile suddenly spread over his face. "Alys. I wish I could be there to see the look on your father's face . . ." He chuckled.

Selendrile just shook his head, bemused. "So, what makes you so confident that Alys will know exactly how to press father's buttons?" He wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. "I didn't even think that the fellow _had_ buttons."

Dastar stood up and came around the huge oak desk, perching on the edge of it next to Selendrile when he reached the other side. "Well," he explained, peering down his long, hooked nose at the dragon-youth, "Alys has obviously gotten through to _you_, and it stands to reason that all those months of traveling with you will pay off with the lump." He shrugged. "Besides, she has a very interesting personality . . . She's just the sort that Fastion would be absolutely baffled by."

Selendrile was beginning to see Dastar's point. Thinking of how _he'd _felt when he first met her . . . He chuckled inwardly. He couldn't really be blamed; her behavior had gone against everything he had begun to expect of humans. _Come down and eat me, you stupid dragon!_ He looked at Dastar and smiled. "I think I see what you're getting at."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**AN: Isn't it strange? For two weeks I'm completely stuck on this chapter, then in a spontaneous burst of creativity, I write most of it in two days. It makes no sense. Goodness me . . . I tried to show a little more insight into the characters in this chapter. It seems as though too often I'm just having them do things, without giving you any clue as to their motives. Let me know if I did an alright job, please. :) REVIEW! You must review. Or I'll . . . um, shun you or something. Considering I don't know you, that shouldn't be too terribly difficult. :D**


	14. 14: Unedited

**AN: :) :D XD Otay . . . Hi! I'm afraid that my inspiration for this fic has died a horrible and painful death. I really feel bad for taking so long to get chapters out, but there's really not much I can do about it. :p Sorry! Reviewing peoples, just to let you know, you are _awesome._ Feel very loved.**

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MUCH MUSHINESS AND OOCNESS. :) **

**Disclaimer: Guess.**

**Of Mice and Dragons**

Alys sat in Selendrile's room, where Fastion had directed her when she mentioned she was tired, and just- _watched_. She hadn't realized just how very _cold-_toned the light radiating everywhere was until she came in here. The walls were covered in a myriad of gold scales, with odd, abstract patterns of blue and green and brown swirling artistically among them, while the floor simply had golden scales and other oddments piled haphazardly about. The cold light reflected off of everything until the whole room was filled with light just as warm-toned and bright as sunshine; it was lovely. She just sat and soaked in the beauty of it all, knowing that she would fall asleep soon.

_"Selendrile! Little brother, you in there?"_ a masculine voice called. Alys gathered from the 'little brother' part that the voice belonged to Faolan. _"He left to visit Dastar,"_ she replied. A large, triangular golden head peeked into the room; disconcerting maroon eyes blinked lazily at her. Alys decided that she _really_ disliked that color.

Faolan smiled, attempting to appear charming. _"Alys,"_ he purred, _"just the person I was looking for."_ It reminded Alys of Inspector Atherton's oily way of speaking. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. _"Funny, I could have sworn I heard you call __**Selendrile's**__ name,"_ she said, inserting a biting note into her tone. He only smiled slyly, walking toward her and eyeing her up and down. _"Spirited,"_ he commented. _"I can see why my brother likes you so much."_

Alys' insides crawled at the way he was looking at her . . . Like she was a piece of meat. She tried desperately to catch hold of the character of the wild and brazen shape-changer that she was supposed to be, and failed miserably. Looking up, her eyes met Faolan's self-assured maroon ones as he advanced, and she fought the panic that was welling up inside of her. She wished desperately to be a mouse; small, gray, and beneath the notice of creepy maroon-eyed dragons. With whiskers and beady little black eyes . . .

_EEEK!_ Alys squeaked in astonishment as she was suddenly surrounded by a deluge of gold. She trembled, her whiskers drooping fearfully— _Wait . . . Whiskers. Of course, it just __**figures**__ that the minute I stop trying to shape-shift, I succeed. _She tried to sigh, but her mouse form let out a squeaky little wheeze instead. _Upside is, I'm so buried in Selendrile's scaly flooring that it'll just look like I disappeared into thin air . . ._ She grinned, imagining the look that must have been on Faolan's face at the moment. Too bad she couldn't hear his mind-voice in this form.

The small gray mouse weaved her way through the debris until she stumbled into the bare rock of the passageway outside of Selendrile's room. Peeking behind her, she saw that the huge gold _thing_, that she realized must be Faolan, was still searching high and low for her. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. Knowing from experience that dragon scales made a lot of noise scraping against the rock of these caves, she shifted to human form and made her way quietly to a place where she would be able to shape-shift and go visit Dastar, or perhaps Liadan, if she could find out where the _Mahyt_ lived. _Maybe even Fastion. If nothing else, I'd never get bored._

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**(AN: Okay, this section is a sort of confusing blend between Alys' POV and Fastion's; that was how it came out. Sorry if it befuddles you!)**

Laughter bubbled up in Alys' throat at the sight of Fastion, and for once she gave into the impulse, ignoring his curious black eyes on her as she chuckled uncontrollably. At first he just watched her impassively; however, after a time he began to look slightly— disturbed. Well, "look" in Selendrile terms anyway. Alys didn't blame him; laughing for that long for no apparent reason wouldn't seem quite sane.

_"Hello!"_ she finally volunteered between gasps of breath. _"Don't ask me why I'm laughing."___Spontaneity seemed to be the surest way to keep the fellow off-balance. His eyes sharpened, focusing on her. _"Are you always like this?"_ he questioned mildly. He seemed to have resigned himself to the fact that she wasn't going to act as he expected her to if there was any way to prevent it.

_"No,"_ Alys answered cheerfully. _"Just around you. And maybe Faolan," _she added thoughtfully, _"although he's far less amusing than you are." _Fastion just looked at her, bemused, and quickly revised any idea he'd had that she was similar in character to Ariana. All the same . . . If nothing else, she was never boring. He grinned inwardly, showing nothing on the surface, and again his thoughts turned toward his obstinate younger son. _Idiot._

_"What are you thinking about?"_ Alys inquired. Fastion's focus had plainly shifted from her, to— something else. He blinked, his obsidian eyes refocusing on her bright hazel ones. _"My idiot son,"_ he answered casually. Alys' eyebrows raised at his frankness. _"Which one?"_ Amusement briefly flashed through his dark eyes. _"The one who loves you."_ Immediately Alys' eyes darkened; she glared at Selendrile's father. _"__**Why**__ do people keep on __**saying**__ that?!" _she complained.

Then something astonishing occurred. Fastion grinned. A condescending, amused dragon-grin, but all the same, a _grin._ From _Fastion._ The _lump of black ice. _Alys gaped. _"You really haven't noticed?" _he questioned rhetorically. The grin had vanished back into the abyss from whence it came. _"You're nearly as thick as he is,"_ the older dragon said ruefully. He glanced up at Alys, meeting her eyes.

_"I'm aware that eventually one or the other of you will stop being stubborn, but I must confess that I have very little patience for fools," _Fastion said bluntly. Alys had the vague idea that this was amusing, but she was still too stunned to laugh. He continued, _"You love him, and he plainly loves you, so stop being silly and do something about it."_ Fastion nodded his head curtly and used one foreclaw to turn the gobsmacked Alys around and push her gently in the direction of the door.

_"Thanks,"_ Alys remembered to say as she left, although she wasn't quite sure that thankfulness was what she was feeling at the moment. She stopped moving once she was out of sight, pausing to process her thoughts.

_What does he mean, "Selendrile plainly loves you?"_ she thought, unconsciously starting to walk again towards the exit to the dwelling. _I mean, it wouldn't make any sense at all . . . We're just friends. _Fastion's voice invaded her mind again, asking slyly, _And who decided that?_

Alys growled in frustration. _No one!_ she told her mental image of the ebony-eyed dragon. _Selendrile's a dragon, and I'm_—_ I __**was**__ a human. Why in the world would he be interested in me? He's never shown any signs of it._ Fastion's imagined voice left the memory stage and became pure conjecture. _Oh really?_ he queried. _Well, to be fair, neither have __**you**__ shown any interest in __**him**__, and you've most definitely been feeling it. Anyway, I wouldn't go so far as to say that Selendrile hasn't shown any signs of being interested. He asked you to stay, didn't he? And he could have left you in Harperton; he'd left enough gold for you to be cared for your whole __**life**__ if you were a human, but he came __**back.**__ That doesn't seem like "nothing" to me._

Alys —metaphorically— glared. _What do you mean "doesn't seem like nothing to you?" You're a figment of my imagination! And why am I arguing with you! _"Fastion" looked smug. _I think that what you __**really**__ want to ask is, "Why am I arguing with you and __**losing**__?"_

_I am not losing! _Alys complained indignantly. "Fastion" gave his "all knowing" look. _Then how come you're trying to distract me from my arguments? Because you don't have a comeback!_ he accused. _Stop talking to yoursel- myself!_ Alys finally commanded desperately.

_All right, _acquiesced a very satisfied "Fastion," _but just think about it._

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Selendrile walked slowly down the passageway out of Dastar's rooms, lost in thought. A small, reflective smile tugged at his lips, as he wondered what mischief Alys was getting up to in his absence. He'd never met someone so good at finding trouble. It was like bad situations hid just around the corner from her, just _waiting_ to jump out and—

"Whoa!"

A thin form in a blue cotton dress collided with him from around the corner, with a resounding "umph" on her part. Instinctively, Selendrile reached out and steadied her before she could bounce off and fall over. Her startled hazel eyes gazed up into his; they were close, so close . . .

_**This**__ isn't such a bad situation,_ some distant, smirking part of Selendrile observed. Most of his attention, however, was centered on the woman in front of him, and everything else had receded into a distant fog. She smelled like fresh air, like sunshine; like all of the things he loved. He wanted to kiss her.

Instead, Selendrile bypassed Alys' lips and buried his face in her hair instead, wrapping his arms around her slim waist. He smiled inwardly when she reciprocated the embrace. She was so _small_, even though, now that she was a dragon, she wasn't _nearly_ as delicate as she appeared. "No need to throw yourself at me, Alys," he murmured in her ear, smirking. She stiffened.

The next instant she'd ripped herself out of his arms; he caught her wrist as she tried to strike him, anger blazing in her eyes. "_You—_" she cut herself off when Selendrile raised an amused eyebrow. Something flickered briefly in her eyes. He knew her well enough to see that she was struggling to stay angry, and he knew just what to do to tip the balance in his favor.

"What?" the dragon-youth queried innocently. "Is it _my _fault I'm too charming for my own good?" She didn't react quite the way he expected. She _did _lose the battle with laughter, but then— she reached one hand behind his neck, pulling his face toward hers, and kissed him.

Selendrile froze. Her kiss was light, just a bare brush of her lips against his, but it sent a whole rush of emotions spinning through him: hope, love, excitement, and overlaying it all, a wild sort of terror. He still stood frozen when she pulled away, looking pleadingly into his wide, startled eyes.

"Please tell me that you feel something too," Alys whispered. When he didn't answer immediately, her eyes grew dark and shuttered. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I just messed everything up, didn't I?" She forced a laugh. "Remind me to kill Fastion."

Before Selendrile could say another word, she had seemingly disappeared into thin air, leaving the shell-shocked dragon-youth to wonder how she'd done it, and most of all, how he was going to find her again.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Dastar!"

The librarian glanced up, concerned, at the sound of Selendrile's distressed voice. "Yes? Are you alright?" Selendrile groaned eloquently, dropping down into a dusty old chair and burying his face in his hands. "I'm an idiot," he moaned. "An oblivious pigheaded purblind idiot."

Dastar gazed at him impassively. "Well yes, but that can't be what you've come to discuss. Am I right to assume that it has something to do with Alys?" Selendrile nodded miserably. "She kissed me again. And I'm an _idiot._"

"Yes, we've established that you're definitely an idiot," said Dastar patiently. A thoughtful look came over his face. "You say she kissed you _again_?" Selendrile sighed. "Yeah. She kissed me once before, a couple months ago. Before I knew what a kiss was."

Dastar raised his eyebrows high over his apricot eyes. "Ah. That explains a lot." He snorted. "You really are an idiot. But why don't you tell me exactly what's happened to get you so overwrought? Maybe I can help." Selendrile proceeded to relate the incident, with the bare minimum of details, to his friend.

Dastar looked astonished. "So that's what happened?" He didn't wait for Selendrile's nod before continuing, "Then why in the world are you sitting here moping?! She _loves_ you, you dolt! Yes, you made a stupid mistake! Now go fix it!"

When the dragon-youth only stared, Dastar grew impatient. "Go find her! Run along!" Selendrile shook himself out of his stupor, a look of dawning hope on his face. "Thanks Dastar!" he called as he ran out of the cavern. The librarian just shook his head and smiled. "Young fools. They'll be alright."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**AN: Hi. :) I got a headache working on my stupid schoolwork; I needed to relax, sooo, this chapter is the product of me venting my frustration and randomness. (Yes, I know, that explains a lot. XD) Plus, I figured it was more that time for the classic "they kiss but there is a huge misunderstanding and for some weird reason that would be ridiculous in real life they don't get together yet." So . . . Okay. **

**~Killer Zebra**


	15. 15: Unedited

**AN: I LOVE CHEESITS!!! (Sorry, inside joke that no one except for me will get, because Quanah will never read this . . .) Thanks to all my fantastical reviewers! I've been so horribly neglectful and you stuck with me anyway. Thank you! I'll probably have at least one more chapter after this one; an epilogue, if nothing else. **

**Disclaimer: VVV= Not Me**

**In Which Selendrile is Spectacular, As Usual**

_Stupid stupid __**stupid**__!_ Alys-the-mouse stopped scurrying down the tunnel for a moment to rub her whiskers agitatedly. _Just goes to show you that listening to figments of your imagination is __**never**__ a good idea! I have to get out of here . . ._

Well, this tiny form certainly wasn't going anywhere fast. She shifted to human and hurried toward the exit, then, reaching it and grabbing her pack where it was stashed in a small niche, shifted to dragon-form and flew toward the dark, twisting tunnel that led to the outside world.

Alys shot up out of the crevasse and into the bright sunlight with a hiss of relief, circling once in the clear, cold air before landing to peer down into the darkness. The total eclipse of light down there was unnerving. _Selendrile would never let me live it down if he knew that even in dragon form I'm nervous in the dark . . ._

_Selendrile. Gosh, how could I have been so **stupid**?_

Alys flinched as a faint hissing noise came from the snow at her feet, before realizing that it was only one of her hot tears. She hadn't noticed she was crying. _Makes sense that someone with a fire in their belly would have boiling tears. It certainly makes things appropriately dramatic, anyway._

She suddenly had the strong urge to go _burn_ something, as if inflicting damage on something else would relieve the pain in her own heart. _Dragon heart. Dragon temper. Dragon instinct to burn things . . . Just a __**couple**__ trees couldn't hurt, could it?_

She immediately felt guilty for the thought, glancing sheepishly at the stunted pines in the distance and mentally apologizing. _It's not your fault that I'm a lovestruck fool without an ounce of self-control._

Glancing once again at the entrance to the Golden Dragon Clan's dwelling, Alys sighed. Whether she liked it or not, she was bound to these dragons, heart and soul. Her heart belonged completely to Selendrile, although he plainly did not return her affections, and her soul had been bound irrevocably to the _Mahyt _from the first moment their eyes met.

But that didn't mean that she had to stay and watch the well-meant sympathy in Sashenka's and Ariana's eyes. Or worse, in Selendrile's. She didn't think she could bear to see pity in those amethyst orbs.

It was doubtful that he'd followed her, but still . . . She should probably get as far away as possible as quickly as possible, just in case. _I can't believe I actually __**kissed**__ him. At least it was just a peck, nothing huge. _She tried not to think about what it would be like to _really_ kiss Selendrile.

Crouching down, she then leaped into the air and pumped her wings furiously to gain altitude. _I should have known better than to think that he might ever love __**me**__. That only happens in stories. There's never going to be a Tad; that wasn't a foredream, it was just my imagination. _For although Alys would never have admitted it before, she had wondered, sometimes, whether or not the dream where she'd met her son had been a true one.

_I should've been content with just friendship, and now I don't even have that. _Then, almost unwillingly,_ Eternity was something to look forward to when I had someone I loved at my side, even if he didn't love me back. Gosh I sound pathetic . . . I'm such a coward! Running away instead of staying to try and patch things up!_

Alys felt a quick flash of anger at herself, followed instantly by shame. If she'd known that being a dragon came with this many pride issues, maybe she wouldn't have been so eager to embrace the idea. But then she thought of how much she loved flying, about the utter sense of love and belonging she had felt when with Sashenka and Ariana, about how when she looked into Liadan's eyes she felt as though she had a mother for the first time in her life . . . Then again, perhaps she would've anyway.

With a mental sigh, Alys reluctantly about-faced to return to the dragon-dwelling, and Selendrile. But— something golden flew out of the crevasse, circling much as she had. She couldn't be certain from this distance, but it almost looked like . . . She found her wingbeats increasing in strength automatically, despite her reluctance to have the inevitable awkward discussion. After all, he'd followed her, hadn't he? That was a good sign. She hoped.

When the golden dragon spotted her, he headed in her direction as well, closing the gap even faster; before long, Alys could decipher that it was indeed Selendrile. _He followed me._ Warmth spread through her at the thought. She felt a little ashamed for having doubted that he cared. He'd proven time and time again that he was her friend, and she knew better now, having met his family, than to think that he was incapable of affection.

When the gap between them had decreased sufficiently, Alys landed and automatically shifted into the form she was most comfortable with, (human,) quickly retrieving a dress from her pack and pulling it over her head even as Selendrile landed as well. Without looking, she tossed a shirt at him, also from the pack. He chuckled softly enough that, without her fey senses, she wouldn't have been able to hear it.

The sound startled her into glancing up; their eyes met and held, sparkling amethyst and dreamy hazel. _He laughs. Isn't this supposed to be the part where everything is extremely awkward and silent for at least two weeks? Yet he __**laughs**__. _Despite herself, Alys felt a smile curving her own lips. _D*** him. Why does he have to be so . . . Wow?_ She mentally rolled her eyes at herself. But it really was a very fitting description, despite not being grammatically correct. In the long, white cotton shirt he had donned, he made a breathtaking golden-and-amethyst picture against the brilliant snow.

She wanted to say something clever and original, but when a brief search through her repertoire of witty comments revealed nothing appropriate for the situation, she gave up the notion. Instead she voiced her thoughts. (Or anyway, the less embarrassing ones.) "Why did you follow me?"

He just looked at her for a while, not answering. Alys shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, and the dragon-youth smiled, slowly, eyes mischievous. He took a few steps closer to her until little more than a foot separated them. Alys stubbornly resisted the urge to take a step back, although she couldn't imagine his motives. Intimidation? No, she decided, more likely he was just trying to make her uncomfortable, or embarrassed, or both. Unfortunately, it was working.

"Let's see . . ." Selendrile feigned pondering. "How do I put this?" He smiled again, but this time his eyes conveyed a different message. They were gentle, and excited, and— frightened? Yes, she decided, although the fear was hidden well, it was definitely there. But what on _earth_ could he have to be frightened of?

"I'm in love with you."

Oh. _Oh. _That was the _last _thing that Alys had expected to hear. She stared at him, uncomprehending, although he'd said it quite clearly. There was no way it could be misconstrued. No awkward, stumbling efforts from the oh-so-cool-and-mysterious-dragon-dude. Although there wasn't much mysterious about 'I'm in love with you.' It was at this point that Alys realized that the statement she was picking apart so thoroughly was a _love confession. _From Selendrile. To her.

"_What?!_"

Instead of answering, Selendrile just closed what little distance remained between them and kissed her. This was nothing like their previous kisses. He pulled her close to him, kissing her as if he couldn't get enough; as if she were the air, and he was suffocating.

_How the heck does a dragon know how to kiss like __**this**__? _was Alys' only thought. Even that was rather vague and ill-defined. Most of her was occupied with getting as close to Selendrile as was humanly —or dragonly— possible. Until she felt him smile against her lips. Somehow this brought back enough rational thought for her to jerk away from him abruptly, her face red, hair disheveled, and breathing heavily.

Selendrile was grinning, and Alys couldn't help but notice that he was in much the same state as she was. "_Wow,_" he said breathlessly, echoing her thoughts.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**Selendrile's POV**

"I'm in love with you."

She didn't gasp. Her eyes didn't widen in surprise. She just regarded him calmly, her steady hazel eyes giving no clue as to what went on behind them. The nervousness that Selendrile had been suppressing surged in his breast.

He was only disappointed momentarily, however. She suddenly stiffened, and her eyes flew open wide, as he'd expected them to in the first place. "_What?!_" she exclaimed.

Well, there was really only one sensible reply to that. He put one arm around her waist and pulled her towards him, leaning down his head and pressing his lips gently to hers. It didn't stay gentle for long. . . .

He'd kissed her in an attempt to court her as a human might have; after all, Dastar had described kissing as "quite pleasant," so it couldn't be too terribly revolting. But the way she responded to him . . . Before long, he was lost. "Quite pleasant" had to be the understatement of the century. He smiled at the errant thought.

Abruptly, Alys jerked away. However, she didn't look horrified, or disgusted, or anything that might have indicated that she had gotten anything but enjoyment from embrace. Instead she looked dazed and flushed, and her breathing was rapid. When she didn't speak, Selendrile summed up the kiss in one word: "_Wow._" He was surprised, and rather embarrassed, at how breathless he sounded.

Alys smiled and nodded in wholehearted agreement. She looked at him and laughed softly, stepping closer and leaning her head against his chest. His arms went around her waist almost of their own volition; it seemed natural. "How come you didn't say something before, when I kissed you?" she asked softly.

"I couldn't speak," he admitted, somewhat bashfully. "For once, you'd completely and utterly stunned me." He smirked, even though she couldn't see it. "Don't get used to it." After all that dreaming and wishing, it was still a bit difficult for Selendrile to grasp that Alys was finally his. Maybe they'd have their hard times, but she was _his._ Her heart had been his all along, even as he was discovering that his own was lost beyond recovery.

"So what are we now, exactly?" asked Alys tentatively.

"Life-mates," Selendrile said simply. "It's the equivalent of marriage for humans; we just don't have any special ceremony to confirm it. The only words that need to be spoken are our own." He paused. "Unless you want to get married?" He leaned back a little, putting one finger under her chin to tilt her face up towards him.

"If you wouldn't mind." Her hazel eyes gazed up at him earnestly. "It may just be a silly human tradition, but it's important to me. And— I think my father would like it." Selendrile nodded. He himself didn't put much stock in spirits or the afterlife, but he wasn't about to bash her beliefs. If she thought that her father was out there somewhere, watching with approval, it wouldn't harm anything. He kissed her again, this time making sure that it stayed low-key, until an interesting thought crossed his mind. "Alys?"

"Yes?" she queried. She had a silly smile on her face, and the vain side of Selendrile preened and and grinned smugly that _he _could do this to her . . . Then again, he really wasn't much better. "Kill Fastion."

Alys blinked. "Huh?" was her intelligent response. Selendrile barely suppressed a grin. "You told me to remind you to kill Fastion," he reminded her. _There,_ he thought, satisfied. The subject was introduced, now she would provide an explanation. Hopefully.

Alys' expression cleared. "_Oh._ Yes. Well, Fastion no longer needs to be killed."

Uhuh. Explanations galore. "Oh, _I_ see. It all makes sense now." Selendrile allowed sarcasm to creep into his tone, but softened it with a rueful smile.

Alys laughed at him, rolling her eyes. "I'll explain, o patient one." She glanced around them at the icy white landscape. "How about I talk while we fly back?" she suggested. Selendrile agreed, and as soon as they stowed the clothes they were wearing back in Alys' pack —the dragon-youth noted with amused exasperation that she was just as awkward as ever with the lack of clothing, despite their new status as life-mates— they shape-shifted and made their way leisurely back toward the Golden Dragon Clan's dwelling.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**AN: Okay, I'm not sure whether to gag, or let out a resounding "Aaaaaaw!" I like reading fluff, but writing it, especially when _my_ love life is completely nonexistent, is just . . . weird. It makes me rather disgusted at myself. Okay, so you guys get to vote! Although I might ignore you, depending on how well my creative juices are flowing. Should I write Alys and Selendrile's wedding, or go straight to the epilogue? Let me know! And _pleeeeze_ review! Reviews make me incredibly insanely happy! Even criticism is good, because that way I know how to avoid criticism in the future! **

**Oh, and it's only fair to give credit where credit is due. The "suffocating" line is not mine. I can't remember where I saw it, but I've always loved that line. So . . . whoever it belongs to, no suing! It's not mine!**


	16. Epilogue: Unedited

**AN: *sniffs* WAAAAAH! It's _over_!!! What am I gonna do? I suppose I could start on a Prince of Persia fanfic . . . Hey! Good idea! I'll do that. Thankyouthankyouthankyou _sooooo_ much, all my reviewers! You guys are _beyond _awesome! Give yourself a pat on the back, and smooch a fat baby for me! :) The overwhelming majority of you voted to include the wedding, so here you go!**

**Disclaimer: WHAT THE HECK? IS THIS REALLY NECESSARY? . . .Well, actually, come to think of it, no. Huh.**

**Epilogue**

"You look like a peacock," Dastar informed Selendrile, who was tugging at the collar of his royal purple tunic, with a golden dragon embroidered on the front. Faolan looked at them blankly. "What's a peacock?"

Dastar and Selendrile shared an exasperated glance, before the apricot-eyed dragon left to retrieve Alys. In the absence of her father, he'd agreed to "give her away," as the humans put it. Selendrile thought that it was all rather strange. She was a girl, not a possession. She didn't need to be "given away."

Alys had explained that it was just a term for the symbolic change from her father's household to her husband's, but Selendrile was still skeptical. Having been raised in a matriarchal society, the idea of the husband and wife being anything but equal partners was foreign to him.

Not that there was much in human wedding traditions that actually made _sense_ to him. Apparently it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in the wedding dress before the day of the wedding, the wedding dress _itself_ had to be white, to symbolize purity, -when the dragon-youth heard this he snorted; _pure_ was one of the _last _words he would use to describe the majority of human females- and at the end of the ceremony, the priest would say "you may kiss the bride." Now _that_, Selendrile thought, was just plain ridiculous. One great advantage of being engaged to Alys was that he could kiss her _whenever_ and _wherever_ he wanted; he certainly wasn't going to ask some priest for permission!

But he went along with it, for Alys' sake. And Sashenka, Ariana and Liadan didn't seem to find anything strange about the customs; perhaps Alys had explained them more fully to her maids- and matron-of-honor. _Or maybe it's a girl thing._

In any case, it seemed that it was his time to get into position. He would be standing to the left of the priest, with his father and brother at his elbow. Sashenka, Ariana and Liadan were on the right. He entered the sanctuary of the small village parish, coming from the room at the back where the priest lived, and stationed himself to the left of the pulpit. The balding, middle aged man smiled at him in a friendly manner, and Selendrile couldn't help but grin back. Now Alys and he would be bound in the eyes of his people _and_ hers.

Speaking of eyes . . . Selendrile looked at the empty pews a bit sadly. He didn't know much about human traditions, but he knew enough to know that that wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The pews should be filled with the bride and groom's friends and family. Alys had adopted his family as her own, at least. And he truly believed that she felt that they were enough.

He was a bit surprised when an old man with a flute, and two young boys, one holding a guitar, came in the front doors.

"I recruited some of the villagers to help with the music," the priest murmured to him. "I hope you don't mind?" The man raised an inquiring eyebrow. Selendrile decided that he liked him.

"No, not at all," he assured the priest. "Thanks for coming," he told the musicians. They all smiled at him and nodded; one of the boys headed for the battered old piano in the corner. **(AN: I know, it's not likely that they'd have a piano. I don't care.)**

As soon as all the other members of the wedding party were in place, the villagers began playing. It was a lovely tune, and despite the lack of polish in the players, Selendrile enjoyed it. He wondered what it was called.

The dragon-youth suddenly had a bout of nervousness. What if Alys changed her mind? What if she'd met a brawny young farmer in the village and decided to- He shook himself. That was just plain silly. She loved him.

Even as the thought passed through his mind, the church doors opened. A white figure and a dark one, silhouetted in bright sunlight, walked into the aisle. When the doors closed behind them, they solidified into Dastar, and right next to him, Alys.

She was beautiful. Stunning. Breathtaking. Indescribable. She was the woman he loved, and once their eyes met, he could've cared less if she'd been a shriveled old hag. He didn't even notice that the rather silly grin on her face was matched on his own.

He must of said all the right things at all the right times, although afterwards all he would remember was staring into her bright hazel eyes, because the next thing he knew, the priest was saying, "You may kiss the bride."

Selendrile didn't even spare the man an irritated thought, just kissed his wife gently, then exited the parish with he at his side, and their family trailing behind.

"I love you," he whispered fervently in her ear. She laughed and stopped walking long enough to pull his lips down for a brief kiss. "I love you too," she told him. Her eyes shone. Faolan made a gagging noise.

Selendrile looked at his family; he loved them to death of course, (mostly,) but all the same, there was one human tradition that he understood perfectly. He hid his grin in Alys' hair.

"Thank the fates for honeymoons."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Selendrile had found the little cabin by the stream back when he'd first left home; he'd actually lived there for a time, and thought that it would make the perfect newlywed getaway. He and Alys had been staying there for over two months, and he'd reluctantly decided that it was probably time to at least visit his family.

What he didn't know was that Alys had recognized the place. Not the cabin, but the moss-covered stream-bank; she could still remember vividly the day that she had met her son there, even though technically it hadn't happened yet. And things just kept falling into place . . .

Selendrile heard Alys soft footsteps come up behind him; she stood on her tiptoes and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Hi," she whispered.

Selendrile felt a smile curve his lips. "Hi," he said back. He sighed, remembering what he had to tell her. "We've been here for a long time, Alys. I hate to leave, but I figure a visit to the Clan is overdue. We can fly over in a few days." He hoped, guiltily, that she would persuade him to stay longer. This place held only fond memories for him, and he wouldn't mind creating new ones there at all.

Alys stiffened against him. He turned around to face her. "What is it?" he asked, concerned. She seemed torn between laughing and crying. "I can't," she said.

Selendrile wrinkled his brow. "You _can't?_ I don't understand." Alys had apparently settled on laughing, because she muffled her giggles in his chest. When she got her breath back, she grinned into his eyes. "I can go back, but not unless I'm flying on your back. I can't shape-shift, Selendrile, I'm pregnant."

He was completely pole-axed. "You're . . ." He stared at the woman in front of him. "You're pregnant?" She nodded, now a bit nervous. "That's alright, right?"

Selendrile laughed, picking her up and swinging her around. "Alys! Yes, it's perfect!" She laughed too, relieved. When he set her down, she said, "And his name is Tad."

He just smiled at her. "How do you know it's a boy?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. She always did surprise him. "A fore-dream," she explained. His eyes widened. "Really? What happened?" He was childishly eager.

Alys sat down on the bank. "Actually, it started here," she began. "I was cooling my feet in the water, when I saw a little purple-eyed fish . . ."

* * * * * * * * * *

Alys blinked herself out of a strange fog, to find her husband staring at her. "Did it work?" was the first thing she asked. Selendrile shot her a bemused look. "Did _what _work?"

Alys looked a bit sheepish. "I tried something new . . . tried contacting my past self. Did it work?" Knowledge flooded into her eyes. "It was the dream, wasn't it?" Her husband, torn between amusement and concern, nodded and pulled her into his arms. "You're an idiot. _Never_ do that again," he said, but some of his amusement leaked into his tone.

Alys smiled. "Don't worry, I don't. I think I'd remember." She raised her head and looked around. "Where's Tad?"

"I sent him back to the cabin," Selendrile replied. "He was pretty shaken up," he added reprovingly. Alys sighed. "I should probably go let him know that I haven't gone _completely_ insane." She gave Selendrile a peck on the lips, then slipped out of his arms to go reassure her son.

Just before she reached the cabin door, she paused. Without turning, she said, "By the way; this one's a girl."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

**AN: AAAAAAW! (Yes, I finally decided. lol) Sweet! I can't believe this is finally finished. I'll probably take a bit of a break from writing stories now, once I've finished that Smallville one-shot that I've been working for for forever. After _that_ though, I'm kind of liking the Prince of Persia idea. By the way, for those of you who haven't played the Prince of Persia trilogy, DO! It is amazing. The first one is Prince of Persia: the Sands of Time, and THE MOVIE IS COMING OUT IN 20010!!! YES!!! Ahem. *sniffs* So . . . Bye guys! Review before you go!**


	17. Author's Note: Chapter 12 Finished!

**Author's Note: First...****Chapter 11****is finished! :D Second... for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, you should probably know that I'm in the process of completely rewriting**_**Dragon's Blood.**___**See the Chapter 1 AN for further details on that... Anyway, the rewrite is going one chapter at a time, but when someone put this story on alert, I realized that people might want to know when new chapters were coming out... and since I wasn't technically 'updating', just using the 'replace chapter' tool instead, FF wouldn't send out an alert. So, I will periodically be re-posting this author's note whenever I finish a new chapter. DON'T REVIEW on this chapter/AN, as it will be deleted again shortly.**

**Thank you very much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts... Just on a different post. ;)**

**~Killer Zebra**

**P.S. I switched the order of Chapter 7 and Chapter 8, so if the last chapter you read was "Chapter 7: Blood Always Tells" (which is now Chapter 8), then you're looking for the former Chapter 8, which is now "Chapter 7: Something Silver."**


End file.
